


I'll Take Your Invitation, You Take All of Me

by goodgayegg



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheerleader!Clarke, F/F, F/M, Multi, Outcast!Lexa, Raven is awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgayegg/pseuds/goodgayegg
Summary: Outcast best friends Lexa and Raven get themselves into a sticky situation and find help from the unlikeliest of sources: Clarke Griffin, head cheerleader, who doesn't seem to hate Lexa the way most people at their school do. Maybe there's more to Clarke than meets the eye...A mostly-fluffy ball of confusion, awkwardness, and all that classic high school romance shit...that turned out way angstier than I intended.(We do hear from Clarke's perspective eventually, I promise.)





	1. Cool Kids

_She sees them walking in a straight line / That's not really her style / And they all got the same heartbeat / But hers is falling behind. - Echosmith_

 

“Why are we even going to this stupid dance, anyway?” Lexa grumbles as she rummages through a rack of depressingly similar little black dresses.  
  
“Because, _chica_ ,” answers her friend Raven, peeking through from the other side of the rack, “it’s been ages since we’ve had any fun. Especially you!” She pokes Lexa’s arm playfully with the tip of a hanger. “Now come help me try these on.”  
  
Lexa sighs and follows Raven to the dressing rooms. She thinks about telling Raven she has a different idea of ‘fun’, but it is impossible to argue with her friend when she is acting stubborn (which is basically always). And going to the dance with Raven probably won’t be _that_ terrible…  
  
Getting Raven out of her clothes and into each of the five slinky gowns she wants to try on is a bit of a process.  
  
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Rav, but these dresses weren’t really made for sitting.”  
  
“Are you saying it doesn’t look good on me?” Raven demands, assessing her appearance in the mirror and shifting the dress’s low neckline.  
  
“Rav,” Lexa responds, “you know you’re hot. Don’t make me say it. Just—”  
  
“Just what?!”  
  
Lexa knows she’s in trouble now. She runs her fingers through her waist-length brown hair, takes a deep breath, and braces for impact, whether verbal or physical.  
  
“Just, there are a lot of dresses that would look great on you and not cut off your circulation or something when you’re in your chair.”  
  
A flush rises on Raven’s cheeks and she looks down into her lap. “I know.” She turns from the mirror and wheels herself back toward the dressing room. “I am hot, though.” She flips her silky black ponytail over her shoulder and winks at Lexa, and Lexa stops feeling guilty.  
  
The fifth dress fits Raven well, and she’s pleased until she looks at the price tag.  
  
“$300? Who the hell can afford to spend that on one dress?!”  
  
“And almost none of it goes to the people who actually _make_ the clothes, either,” Lexa adds. “Let’s get out of here. We can find you a dress somewhere else.”  
  
“And one for you,” Raven reminds her friend with altogether too mischievous a smile on her face.  
  
“And one for me. Sure. Whatever.” As Lexa turns toward the door, something on the other side of the store catches her eye. “Or…”  
  
“Or?”  
  
“Or I could wear a tux!”  
  
Raven slaps her hand to her forehead. “Aw, man. Now people will really think we’re together.”  
  
But Lexa doesn’t hear her. She is on a mission.  
  
Raven’s annoyance is quickly replaced by amusement. None of the tuxedos are made to fit skinny sixteen-year-old girls. The sleeves are too long, the pants fit too tightly around Lexa’s hips or too loosely around her legs, and the wide shirt collars make her neck look like a twig. Lexa is disappointed, but when she looks in the mirror, she has to laugh along. And Raven is right; she is having some much-needed fun. It’s been a long time since they’ve spent any time together that hasn’t involved homework.  
  
Lexa does find a midnight blue silk bowtie that she loves, but it costs $65.  
  
“You know,” Raven muses, reprising her mischievous grin, “that tie goes so well with this dress. And we look damn fine in them. I think I could work something out.”  
  
She examines the anti-theft mechanism on the back of the dress.  
  
“Raven…?” This is not good. “Raven, come on. It’s just a dress.” The girls don’t have a criminal record, and Lexa wants to keep it that way. She can’t risk her track scholarship on a stupid dress. Not that she has a track scholarship yet, but she could if she doesn’t do anything stupid. And Raven is already being courted by a ton of great engineering colleges.  
  
But Raven can’t be dissuaded. “I know I can do it, Lex. You don’t have to be involved. You can wait for me around the corner.”  
  
“You know I’m not going to do that.”  
  
Lexa hopes that her friend will just give up, but Raven pops the mechanism off the dress in less than a minute. She gives the tie a once-over and pronounces it safe. “The tracker is in the box. We’re good.”  
  
Lexa nods, but her stomach feels otherwise. She puts the clothes in the wheelchair’s side pocket and pushes Raven toward the exit. Her sweaty palms make it hard to grip the rubbery handles.  
  
“Okay,” Raven whispers as they pass through the theft detectors, “be cool.”  
  
Lexa keeps her eyes straight ahead and moves them through the doorway. Silence. She allows herself a small smile. And then the alarms go off.  
  
Raven lets out a string of curses and rotates her chair back toward the store. Lexa just freezes.  
  
A mall security guard appears. “Hold it right there! Hands where I can see ‘em!”  
  
They put their hands up. “I would like to point out,” Lexa whispers through clenched teeth, “that this…was… _stupid_.”  
  
The guard searches their bags and quickly finds what he is looking for. “I suppose you girls ‘forgot to pay’ for these, huh?” He sneers.  
  
“Uh…n-no, sir,” Lexa stammers, looking up at him and trying to appear innocent. “We, well, um…”  
  
“What’s going on here?”  
  
Just when Lexa thought this situation couldn’t get any worse, she turns to see Clarke Griffin, their high school’s resident _wunderkind_ , approaching them at a brisk pace. Clarke is basically the textbook definition of perfect. She’s one of the richest and most popular girls in school, as well as captain of the debate team and head cheerleader. And in case life wasn’t unfair enough, she is also gorgeous: blonde hair falling in gentle waves to the top of her chest, low-necked t-shirt hugging her every curve like a second skin, sky blue eyes emphasized with just the right amount of mascara, toned legs emerging from beneath her short denim skirt…Lexa hates that these tricks work as well on her as they do on the football players they are intended for.  
  
The guard goes from bad cop to cool uncle in an amount of time too small for even Raven to calculate. “Howdy, Clarke?”  
  
“I’m great, Lou. How’s Wendy?”  
  
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.”  
  
Clarke nods and smiles sweetly. “My father was just saying he wanted to have the both of you over for dinner some time.”  
  
“Tell your daddy that’d be real nice.” He seems to suddenly remember where he is. “So, I found these,” he holds up the dress and the bowtie, “in this little lady’s bag.” He indicates Raven, who looks Clarke straight in the eyes. Lexa, meanwhile, is looking anywhere but. She doesn’t want to imagine what will happen when Clarke tells all her friends that she caught two kids from the projects shoplifting. Lexa tries to keep a low profile at school, and this is not what she needs. Not after last year. She can feel her face burning just thinking about it, and she covers her ears, which are also turning pink, with her long, dark hair.  
  
Clarke rolls her eyes. “Didn’t they tell you?”  
  
Lou, the guard, looks confused. “They didn’t tell me much of anything.”  
  
“I just asked my friends to check our new security system for me.”  
  
Lou raises an eyebrow, taking in Lexa’s ripped jeans and graying high-tops and Raven’s lip and eyebrow piercings. “These are your friends?”  
  
Lexa is unsure whether to be insulted by this question. Is it that unbelievable that she is a friend of Clarke’s? Not that she wants to be her friend, anyway…  
  
“Look,” Clarke continues, taking the dress from him. “There are no obviously visible trackers on this, but our new system picked it up anyway. Didn’t they train you on this?”  
  
“I…I think that’s scheduled for next week…” Lou is definitely out of his comfort zone.  
  
“Thanks for coming by, Lou.” Clarke shoots him another charming smile. It’s easy to see why she has everyone in her life wrapped around her finger: teachers, boys, cheerleading minions, debate judges, and probably one day the world. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know I was testing. I’ll see you around?”  
  
“Alright, then.” Lou glances back at Raven one more time. He looks like he wants to say something else, but simply hands Clarke the bowtie and leaves.  
  
Raven turns to Lexa and lets out a huge sigh. “Wow, that was close!”  
  
“Oh my god, Raven! He can probably still hear us! How can someone as smart as you be such a fucking _idiot_ sometimes?!!!” Lexa prides herself on her level-headed nature, but everyone has limits.  
  
“It’s fine. We’re fine.”  
  
“I am not fine! I don’t know why I let you get us into these messes.”  
  
“I didn’t make you do anything!”  
  
“Like I’m just going to stand there while you go to jail?!”  
  
They hear a small, polite cough behind them and spin around to see Clarke still standing there. She no longer looks so sweet and innocent. In fact, she is almost smirking at Lexa.  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
“Yeah, uh, thanks.” Lexa manages, her gaze trained on the floor. She flushes a deeper shade of scarlet at being subtly accused of rudeness. Clarke had gone out of her way to help two girls she hardly knew, and then they had ignored her.  
  
Clarke pauses, looking satisfied, then pivots back to Raven. “That was pretty stupid, you know. It wouldn’t be a very good security system if even high school students could get around it.”  
  
This sets Raven off. “I’m sorry not all of us can afford to shell out hundreds of dollars for this crap! And how dare you insult my intelligence?! Just because I’m still in high school…so are you! What the hell are you even doing here, anyway?”  
  
Lexa has been wondering the same thing. “How did you know the guard and everything?”  
  
She didn’t mean to say that out loud. Lexa looks away from Clarke before the blonde’s eyes land on her again and quickly resumes pretending that none of this is happening.  
  
“Oh, it’s no big deal. He’s a friend of my father.”  
  
Raven scoffs.  
  
“Okay, he works for my father. The point is, it worked. You’re free.”  
  
“Damn right,” Raven says, too confidently for someone who’d started this whole mess to begin with. “And we’ll use that freedom to get the fuck out of here. Come on, Lexa.” She pushes herself through the doorway, and Lexa follows, breathing a bit more easily with each step away from the store and from Clarke.


	2. The Mountain and the Sea

_You call me a mountain / And I call you the sea / I’ll stand tall and certain / And watch you swallow me – Ingrid Michaelson_

 

Raven and Lexa don’t exactly live in the projects, but it’s definitely not the right side of the tracks, either. They take the bus back to their neighborhood without speaking. Lexa isn’t really mad at Raven, but she isn’t ready to forgive her yet, either. She plays with her phone, though Raven surely knows Lexa doesn’t have any other friends to text. She likes the other girls on the track team well enough, but she avoids forming any real bonds with people she views first and foremost as her competitors.

They stop by Lexa’s house to get her school supplies, then continue down the block to Raven’s. If Raven notices Lexa’s silent treatment, she doesn’t show it. It’s not unusual for Lexa to be absorbed in her thoughts, she knows, but she tries to make her silence a little louder. She wants Raven to feel her disapproval.

Once they get settled in Raven’s room, Lexa on the floor and Raven sprawled across her bed (her desk is always too cluttered with disassembled computer parts, candy wrappers, and other junk to function as a workspace), Raven breaks the silence.

“So, Clarke Griffin? Really?”

“What about her?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Lexa can tell she’s walked into a trap.

Raven grins triumphantly at her friend. “Oh, I don’t know. Your complete inability to make eye contact with her? Thanking her for being the spoiled princess she always is? The way your face turned into a strawberry any time she looked at you?”

“And that couldn’t have had anything to do with my feelings about being caught shoplifting?” Lexa asks. It doesn’t come out as confident and biting as she’d intended.

“It could,” Raven admits, “but it doesn’t.”

“Raven…”

“Nuh-uh. No. I know that look, Lex. You think she’s cute.”

Lexa opens her mouth to tell Raven to mind her own business, but she realizes that it’s pointless.

“So what if I do?”

Raven shrugs, turning back to her chemistry textbook. “I just don’t want you to get hurt is all. Girls like Clarke are bad news for girls like us.”

“Girls like us? What’s that supposed to mean?” Lexa thinks she knows, but she wants Raven to say it anyway.

“Girls like us. Girls who have to work for every damn thing. We don’t get things handed to us, so we tend to, um, play nicer with our toys.”

Oh. Lexa’s face begins to heat up at the idea of being Clarke’s toy, even if— _especially_ if—she wouldn’t be playing nice. Lexa shakes her head. They really need to stop talking about this.

“So I find a girl attractive and suddenly I’m in love with her, hopelessly pining, waiting for her to notice me?” So much for not talking about it. Sometimes her mouth and her brain don’t seem to be connected.

“Well, no...”

“Exactly.” Lexa crosses her arms over her chest, confident that she’s made her point. Enjoying someone’s physical appearance doesn’t really mean anything. And Raven isn’t one to talk, really.

“Just because you think Wick is hot doesn’t mean you have feelings for him, right?”

Ravens mouth hangs open, and Lexa knows she’s gone too far. She mumbles an apology and they go back to their homework.

“And it’s not like she’s even into girls, anyway,” Lexa thinks out loud as she flips to the correct page in her French textbook, “so this is all completely irrelevant.”

Raven doesn’t respond, and Lexa devotes her mind to her homework, with only minimal intrusions from a certain blonde. Lexa silently curses Raven for bringing this up when she has so many verb conjugations to memorize. None of the words on the page can hold her attention like the curl of two glossy lips pursing to emit the tip of a tongue and a sarcastic “You’re welcome.”

 

Monday morning comes, as always, far too early. Lexa rolls out of bed at 5:15, dresses haphazardly in her dark room, walks out the back door so as not to disturb her mother, and sets off on her paper route. It’s a dorky job, she knows, meant for kids, but she’s been doing it since she was twelve years old and it suits her. Lexa loves biking through the rich neighborhoods, where people still pay for hard copies of newspapers, in the cool semidarkness of early morning. She feels like the only person in the world, as if the sun is tinging the sky rosy gold and the birds are singing just for her.

When she gets to school, though, the world is the complete opposite: crowded with noisy, sweaty, half-conscious teenagers bustling in all directions. She takes her customary seat at the back of her English classroom and tries to remember what she read of _East of Eden_ over the weekend. And then Clarke walks into the room.

Lexa wishes she’d signed up for psychology as her science this year. There has to be some theory that would explain why Clarke Griffin, who on Friday had been just another rich know-it-all as far as Lexa was concerned, suddenly captures her attention like she is blocking out the sun. The power of suggestion: that’s probably it. Raven had brought this up after the incident Saturday morning and gotten her stuck on the thought. And Lexa has been kind of lonely lately; her mom is working all the time and her sister moved out last year. And her grandmother…but that was years ago. That shouldn’t matter anymore.

Lexa sighs despite herself. Raven and her family are great, and Lexa is always welcome at their house, but it isn’t quite the same, and Raven and her six siblings are actually a little too much most of the time. And then a pretty girl was nice to her…it makes sense. It’s all contextual.

Lexa doesn’t go crazy over girls like this. She doesn’t have the time. And yet she keeps shifting in her seat to catch glimpses of blonde hair in the front row. Lexa is shocked when the bell rings; she doesn’t recall their teacher saying a single word.

 

Luckily, it’s a big school and she doesn’t share any other classes with Clarke. Lexa is able to gain some relief from her temporary insanity and actually learn something in her next three classes. Raven is busy programming robots during lunch, so Lexa sits with some girls from the track team, who invite her to join their group for the homecoming dance. Lexa is grateful to have an excuse for declining.

“I’m already going with Raven.”

“So which one of you finally asked the other out?” Octavia asks, playfully shoving Lexa.

“Shut up. Y’all know it’s not like that.”

“Well, it’s about time you got another girl, if it’s not going to be Reyes,” Indra interjects.

It’s nice to have teammates who are so supportive of her sexuality, especially since they share a locker room, but on the other hand, she really wishes they’d leave her alone. Lexa does _not_ want to be thinking about dating today, of all days.

 

Cross country is not Lexa’s main sport, but it’s a decent way to spend a couple of hours when track isn’t in season, and she can always run some sprints around the track after practice. She runs as fast as she can, and all the drama of the weekend seems to fall away, unable to keep up.

By the time Lexa reaches the locker room, the rest of the team has cleared out. Another plus of running extra laps: she gets to shower in peace, without anyone yelling at her to hurry up. As Lexa gives her hair a final rinse, though, she hears the locker room door swing open, followed by the characteristic chatter of a dozen teenage girls. Lexa scrambles to finish up, but by the time she emerges from the shower stall the cheerleaders are already streaming in, with none other than Clarke Griffin in the lead. Lexa has no choice but to slink past the group of girls in nothing but her towel.

Clarke is thankfully facing away from the showers, the other girls seated on the bench in front of her or leaning on the surrounding lockers.

“That was a great practice, ladies, but those jumps are not going to cut it for homecoming. We have less than three weeks! I know we’ve got some difficult formations, but if everyone gets her individual part down, we can make it happen. I want everyone to spend at least 20 minutes stretching and another 20 on strength training at home tonight.” Clarke sounds more like a drill sergeant than a cheerleader. Lexa is a little impressed.

Lexa sneaks past as the team erupts in a chorus of groans and whines. She tries not to stare at Clarke in her cheerleading uniform, but the outfits are made to invite such gazes. It isn’t Lexa’s fault that Clarke’s sleeveless top ends a teasing half-inch before her skirt begins, revealing a small amount of skin glistening with sweat. It isn’t Lexa’s fault that said skirt is so short that it would probably break the school dress code if it weren’t a uniform. It isn’t Lexa’s fault that Clarke’s high ponytail has released a few delicate strands which snake their way down the back of her neck and under her collar, drawing Lexa’s eyes down with them. Since when is Lexa into sweaty cheerleaders, anyway? That’s some gross dudebro porn fantasy. _Not cheerleaders, though. Not plural. Just one specific cheerleader._ She shakes her head vigorously and turns the corner to her own locker.

 

Cheer practice must finish earlier the next few days, because Lexa has the locker room to herself. When she gets out of the shower on Thursday, though, she hears soft music from the other side of the locker room. She follows it without thinking and ends up at the back entrance to the auxiliary gym. The lights are off, but the door is cracked open. A part of Lexa’s brain knows what she will find when she peeks inside.

Clarke stands in the center of the room, with her back to the door, dressed in black yoga pants and a pale blue tank top. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun which bobs around when she nods her head to the beat. She isn’t dancing, exactly, just subtly moving in time with the music, occasionally pausing to mark something in her small purple notebook. Lexa watches her for a few minutes, mesmerized by each tiny movement of Clarke’s bare feet or shoulders, each turn of her head. She is truly beautiful.

“Enjoying the show, Lexa?”

Clarke is still facing the far wall, away from the door. Her words jolt Lexa out of her Clarke-centric reverie and into a gut-wrenching realization: this room is covered in mirrors. She has been visible to Clarke this whole time, and she is still in her towel.

Lexa turns and sprints back to her locker. Her hands shake as she turns the combination lock. She dresses as quickly as possible, but she is still only in her bra and underwear when Clarke comes barreling around the corner. Lexa grabs her towel and holds it up in front of herself, turning away from the other girl and blushing so hard that she can feel it throughout her body.

“Shit,” Clarke mutters. She takes a slow breath out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”

Her voice sounds farther away now. Lexa peeks over her shoulder to find that Clarke has retreated to the next row of lockers, giving Lexa some privacy to finish changing.

It takes Lexa a few minutes to dress and gather the courage to walk over to the bench where Clarke is sitting. She opens her mouth but can’t get words to come out, so she just sits down next to the blonde. They sit in silence for a long moment, both pairs of eyes focused on the lockers in front of them.

Clarke speaks first. “So, uh, hi.”

Lexa swallows, and it feels like she has a golf ball trapped in her throat. “Hi.”

“Come here often?” Clarke chuckles to herself.

“Track. And stuff. You know.” She can feel Clarke’s eyes on her, and she risks a quick glance in return. Clarke is nodding. _Does_ she know Lexa is a runner? And for that matter,  
“How do you know my name?”

They are facing each other now, and Lexa watches Clarke’s eyebrows twitch in skeptical amusement. “We’ve had, like, five classes together since freshman year. And I don’t tend to forget people who try to steal from my father’s properties.”

Lexa really has to get a handle on her blushing problem. Her hair is still damp and cool against her face, which helps a little, but it’s flat, too, and her pinking ears poke through. It’s a toss-up for which is making her blush more: mortification at being reminded of the shoplifting incident or pleasure that Clarke Griffin knows her name. She tries not to think about the fact that Clarke probably only knows who Lexa is because of what happened last year.

Clarke exhales slowly, her lips forming a perfect O around the emerging air. “So, listen. I know I’ve been a little out of line today and you have literally no reason to do me a favor, but would you mind helping me with something?”

Lexa laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I know.” Clarke stands up. “I’ll just—”

On some wild impulse that Lexa is sure belongs to an entirely different person, she wraps her fingers around Clarke’s wrist, holding the blonde in place. “No. Wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I was laughing because _of course_ I’ll help you. You got me out of going to jail less than a week ago!”

Clarke smiles, and it’s different than the ones Lexa has seen before, almost shy. “You weren’t going to go to jail…”

“Can we please agree to never talk about that again?”

“Deal.” Clarke holds out her right hand for Lexa to shake and both pairs of eyes travel to Lexa’s right hand, still clasping Clarke’s left wrist. Lexa retracts her hand, and the girls share a nervous laugh and an awkward handshake.

Lexa needs to get her mind off of that exchange. “So, what’s this favor?”

Clarke leads her into the main gym and the two girls spend the next half hour putting tumbling mats away, which is harder than it sounds. Those things are heavy, and at least two feet taller than Lexa when they’re standing on their sides.

Clarke keeps apologizing. “I know this is gross. I’m sorry. You just took a shower, too.”

Lexa gulps a little at the memory of Clarke seeing her in her towel, and then in her underwear. She is glad that Clarke is too occupied babbling to notice Lexa blushing. Again. This is becoming seriously tiresome.

“I normally have the girls help me with this, but I was stressing out so much about our final sequence that I sent everyone home early and worked on some new moves for us. I forgot to tell them to clean up.”

“I don’t mind, really.” Lexa doesn’t. “It’s a good arm workout.” She shifts the weight of the mat they’re carrying to one arm and leans around so she can see Clarke, holding the other end. She flexes her bicep and growls at the blonde, which causes them both to erupt in laughter and drop the mat. Clarke flops down on top of it and gestures for Lexa to join her.

They lie like that for a long while, side by side, staring up at the high ductwork ceiling of the gym. There is about an inch of space between their shoulders. If either of them moved at all, they would be touching. Lexa’s heartrate picks up. This whole situation suddenly seems like a bad idea. Or a very good one…

Clarke’s eyelids flutter closed and Lexa lets her rest for a few minutes. Lexa, on the other hand, has never felt more awake.

When they finally get the mats put away, the two girls stand awkwardly facing each other.

“Thanks for the help,” Clarke offers.

“Uh-huh. No problem.” Lexa holds out her hand to Clarke, who for some reason doesn’t shake it but instead gives it a quick squeeze. It feels nice, if Lexa is being honest. Just weird.

“So. I’ll see you around?” This is a stupid thing for Lexa to say, considering they share first period and will definitely see each other there in approximately 15 hours, but Clarke doesn’t comment.

“See you.”

And then, of course, because Lexa’s pretty sure that she has discovered a new corollary of Murphy’s Law—anything that _can_ be awkward _will_ be awkward—they both head back into the girls’ locker room.

 

Over the next two weeks, the girls fall into a routine. After practice, when Lexa has showered and dressed, she _just happens_ to pass by what she has begun to think of as Clarke’s dance studio. She knocks and Clarke invites her in. They make awkward small talk for a minute or two before Clarke _just happens_ to remember some small task she needs help with. Lexa might be imagining this, but these chores always seem to take more time than they should. She’s probably imagining it. And it’s not like Lexa has anyone waiting for her at home, anyway. Even if she did, she’s powerless against Clarke’s damsel-in-distress act. She likes feeling useful, and she really likes the feeling that grows in her chest each time Clarke smiles and thanks her for doing something stupid like grabbing a box of pompoms from the gym closet.

Clarke looks down at her notebook. “Okay, I think that’s it.”

“Cool.” Lexa brings her backpack into the gym now to avoid more awkward goodbyes like the first day. She slings it over one shoulder and waves to Clarke. “See you tomorrow?”

“Actually, there’s no practice tomorrow.” It almost sounds like Clarke is apologizing. “It’s homecoming, so everyone needs to rest before the big game.”

“Homecoming. Right. Have fun with that.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

Lexa chuckles. “I’m not exactly into football.”

“What _are_ you into?”

Lexa’s eyebrows shoot up, and when she meets Clarke’s eyes the other girl looks just as surprised.

“I…I mean…do you have other plans or something?” Lexa has never seen Clarke flustered before, and she likes it.

“Does sitting on my couch and watching Animal Planet count as plans?”

Clarke smiles. “A football game isn’t too different from a nature documentary, actually. One of the really violent ones with an old guy narrating everything and getting way too into it. I’m sure it’ll be a better show than whatever they’re playing on TV.”

Clarke is still wearing her cheerleading uniform today. Sometimes Lexa thinks this is all a calculated plot, that Clarke knows how smitten Lexa is with her and is milking it for every last drop. For the record, Lexa is pretty okay with being used. It’s better than being alone with her thoughts and her homework, and looking at Clarke is a kind of reward. In that way, she’s using Clarke, too. But what does the blonde gain from Lexa showing up to the game? Lexa can’t figure it out.

“I don’t know…”

“Please?” There it is. Clarke worries the hem of her skirt between her fingers and fixes Lexa with eyes that have suddenly become Lexa’s entire world. They are so bright and so blue and should be classified as some kind of psychological weapon because Lexa’s willpower drains away in less than a second.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there.”

Clarke emits a tiny squeal and wraps Lexa in a quick hug. Lexa stiffens at Clarke’s touch. The blonde pulls back and apologizes, then practically runs off.

On her bike ride home, Lexa reviews the baffling encounter. How did she agree to go to the homecoming football game? What is she even agreeing to? It doesn’t matter, she decides. Clarke wants it, and she can give it to her. It is only then that it dawns on Lexa exactly how horribly she is in over her head.


	3. Take Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW sexual assault

_Tell me I’m safe, you’ve got me now / Would you take the wheel / If I lose control? / If I’m lying here / Will you take me home? – Jess Glynne_

 

Friday is the best night of Lexa’s week, and not just because she doesn’t have school the next day. On Fridays, she gets to visit her sister, Anya, who now lives in an apartment on the other side of town with her boyfriend, Nyko, and their son, Teo. Both sisters have hectic schedules, but Friday night dinner is a sacred trust.

Lexa tries not to guilt Anya about moving out and leaving her alone with their mother. Lexa and her mom get along fairly well, when they see each other, but with Anya it has always been a different story. Anya and their mother fought all the time when the girls were growing up, and when Anya got pregnant, tensions rose too high for her to take it anymore. Anya has always been good to Lexa, though, and she is a very cool big sister. She plays bass in an all-girl punk band, works in a music store downtown, and is always ready to help Lexa out. Well, almost always.

Lexa usually tries not to guilt Anya, but she needs her big sister for this one, and she doesn’t think anything else is going to work.

“I want to see her cheer. I told her I’d be there, and I can’t go alone.”

Anya crosses her arms over her chest and leans toward Lexa as if she is about to tell a secret. “Please tell me how this isn’t the _worst_ idea I’ve _ever_ heard?”

“Come on. I hardly get to see you anymore! I’ve been so lonely since you moved out. We’d get to spend some more time together, doing something we’ve never done before, and I’ll get some eye candy out of it.”

“That’s all?”

Lexa nods vigorously. “That’s all.”

“No.”

“Pleeease?”

“No!”

“Pretty please?”

“Lexa, no.”

“Pretty, pretty please, and also a week of free babysitting?”

Anya pauses, and, right on cue, Teo starts wailing.

“Ugh, fine!” Anya throws her hands up. “Now watch the stove while I go check on him.”

 

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Anya whispers as she and Lexa step through the gates and into the already packed football stadium about an hour later. Lexa had hoped they were early enough to get seats with a decent view of the cheerleaders, but you can never be early enough to a high school football game in Texas.

“Because I’m your baby sister and you love me?” Lexa offers, trying to sound as innocent as possible and knowing it will get her nowhere.

“Not good enough, girl,” Anya counters as she elbows her way through the crowd. “There are _reasons_ I never went to this shit when I was in high school. And it’s fucking _homecoming_! I might see people I _know_ here! You owe me.”

“Just say the word, sister dearest.”

Anya shoves Lexa, nearly knocking her into the young boy beside her.

“But seriously,” Lexa continues, “thank you. I couldn’t ask Raven to come with me; I’d never hear the end of it. And the track girls are all here with dates. _Boy_ dates.”

“I know, I know. Sob, sob, bitch, whine. ‘All my little friends are giving me a hard time for wanting a rich girl!’ Now point her out to me.”

“There. The blonde.”

“Well, sis, she is definitely hot.”

“You think so?”

“Totally. She’s way out of _your_ league, that’s for sure.”

“Hey!” Lexa tries to act offended but can’t hide her smile.

 

Anya does find some guys she knows, and she doesn’t seem to hate them. They invite the sisters to sit with them, and they have great seats.

Some football things happen. Boys line up, run around after a ball and grab each other all over, then fall down. Someone blows a whistle and they start over. People cheer and curse and eat and drink and hug. The marching band marches and plays. Lexa’s eyes remain on the sidelines, where the cheerleaders cartwheel, tumble and jump with incredible energy whether or not their team is doing anything worth cheering about. They are fantastic, unparalleled. The half-time show is inspiring. Clarke is perfection. She choreographed the whole thing, of course.

“I’m getting tired of hearing about it, Lex,” Anya informs her. “I was there, too, you know. Still am, in fact. And until you grow enough backbone to ask her out, I think I’ve reached the limit of my obligation to care about her.”

Their school wins the game. Lexa is vaguely aware of the chaos around her escalating a couple of levels. She is _very_ aware of a shaggy-haired football player picking Clarke up and spinning her around in celebration. Their bodies are very close together. Their faces are very close together. He sets her down and this doesn’t change. Lexa stands up and fully plans to storm off, but her path is blocked on all sides by crazed football fans.

“Hey! Lex!” Anya grabs her shoulder and pulls her back down. “Calm your tits, okay? We’ll get out of here in a minute.”

Lexa takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

Anya smiles. “Good. And speaking of getting out of here, the guys are going to a party to celebrate ‘school spirit’ and whatever.” She actually makes air quotes with her fingers. “The point is there’s going to be alcohol and dancing and a bunch of other stuff to take your mind off of this damn girl for the night.”

She pauses, and Lexa is about to protest—she doesn’t party like that anymore—but Anya isn’t having it. “I also feel I should mention that I am your ride home and you basically don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Lexa mutters some creative threats under her breath as they slowly make their way to the parking lot. Why does she only spend time with bossy people?

 

The party is way out on the edge of town. Lexa isn’t sure this house is even in her school district. It’s been over two years since she’s been to a party, but nothing seems to have changed. There are more than a few football players here, though, which makes Lexa a little uneasy. Big, muscular guys make her uncomfortable, especially when they’re drunk.

They’ve hardly been at the party for five minutes when Lexa realizes that Anya has disappeared. Typical. Anya is a mother now, and you’d think she’d be a little more responsible, but this is all awfully familiar. They used to go to parties like this when she was in middle school and Anya was in high school, after their dad left, their grandmother died, and their mom fell apart. Anya always had a boy or two hooking her up with alcohol and drugs, and nobody minded the kid sister in the corner. Lexa used to enjoy it, but she isn’t that girl anymore. She can still have a beer or two, though.

One or two beers quickly turns into three or four, and Lexa really has to pee. She heads upstairs—it’s a big house, and unlike the ones in her neighborhood, it has an upstairs—and finds the bathroom miraculously unoccupied.

When she emerges from the bathroom, Lexa hears a lot of noise emanating through the closed door of the room across the hall. She knows she should just leave well enough alone, but she hears something collide violently with the door, and she can’t just walk away. The doorknob turns more easily than she was expecting, and Lexa nearly throws herself inside. She is in no way prepared for what she sees.

Clarke is sprawled sideways on the huge four-poster bed in the middle of the room. The same shaggy-haired football player from after the game leans over her, pinning her wrists over her head. Clarke doesn’t look like she’s having a good time: she’s wriggling around under him, trying to break his hold. The hem of her red dress is pushed up over her hips, and her things are strewn across the floor. She turns her head toward the door when Lexa barges in, and Lexa can see that she is crying.

Lexa’s brain has a hard time functioning whenever she’s around Clarke, but it’s nothing like this. This is rage like she’s never felt before. Everything after that is kind of a blur. She sprints across the room and jumps on the bastard’s back. This tips the two of them onto the floor, allowing Clarke to break free. Lexa manages to get one good punch in before the guy collects himself and knocks her on her back.

“Dude! Wha the fuh?!” He’s slurring. A lot. He’s also very heavy and very on top of her. She may be stuck. This may be bad. The guy swings his arm in an absurdly wide arc, and Lexa can’t do anything but shut her eyes.

THUD!

“Why am I not in pain?” Lexa is apparently drunk enough that she’s thinking out loud.

“You’re welcome.”

Lexa opens her eyes to see Clarke smiling down at her, holding a book in her hand. Her makeup is streaked and her hair is a complete mess, and she is the most beautiful thing that Lexa has ever seen. Lexa shimmies out from underneath the unconscious football player and accepts Clarke’s hand to help her to her feet.

Some part of her has the incredible wit and wherewithal to remember the correct response: “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

Clarke throws herself at Lexa and wraps her arms tightly around the brunette, burying her face in Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa gasps softly at the pain in her back and ribcage, but she figures that sometimes there’s a price for miracles, and this? Definitely worth it.

Clarke takes a few deep, shaky breaths, and Lexa feels some fresh tears soak into her shirt. She strokes Clarkes hair, which makes the blonde burrow deeper into Lexa. They stay like that for a brief eternity. A small voice in Lexa’s head tells her that this embrace has nothing to do with her. Clarke is vulnerable right now, and Lexa just happens to be the person around to support her. Speaking of support…

“Are you okay?” That was stupid. Of course she’s not okay.

Clarke seems to take this as a signal to start pretending that she is, though. She disengages from Lexa, wipes her eyes, and straightens her dress. Lexa grabs her a tissue from the bedside table, careful not to step on the unconscious boy on the floor. Clarke perches on the edge of the bed and, when Lexa nervously meets her eyes, motions for the brunette to join her. Lexa sits on something hard. It’s the book Clarke used to knock the guy out.

“Oh my god, Clarke! You hit him with _the Bible_?!” Lexa can’t help but laugh. She feels like she just walked into a soap opera.

“I know!” Clarke looks like she actually fears some form of divine retaliation. “It was the only heavy thing I could see!”

“Relax, darling. I’m sure there’s some kind of self-defense clause in here.” Lexa thumbs through the pages with an expression of mock seriousness. This joke seems to be enough to distract Clarke from the fact that Lexa just called her ‘darling’. Lexa doesn’t have any ideas to distract her from what was happening before Lexa entered the bedroom, though.

“So, should I, uh, send some of your friends up here?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I don’t want to see anyone.” The movement seems to make her dizzy, and Lexa gets the hint that she might actually be the most sober person in the room right now.

“Okay.” Lexa thinks maybe that means Clarke wants her to leave, too, but leaving Clarke alone is probably not a good idea, so she stays. Clarke doesn’t tell her to go; instead, she leans over and rests her forehead on the brunette’s shoulder.

They sit silently on the bed. A soft groan travels up from the body on the floor, and the girls share a nervous glance.

“So, we should go…” Lexa starts gathering Clarke’s things from the floor: red heels, white cardigan, pink clutch, white iPhone with a cracked screen—that must have been what hit the door.  
  
“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice has a hint of a quiver in it and Lexa is at her side in a blink.

“What is it?”

“Can you take me home?”

 _That is not a proposition. That is not a proposition. That is not a proposition._ Maybe if Lexa repeats that thought enough times her body will calm the fuck down. Clarke was just almost raped for Christ’s sake! She doesn’t want anything like that right now. Especially not from a girl. Especially not from the person she is trusting to get her out of this mess.

“I don’t have a car.”

“We can use mine.” Clarke produces the keys from her purse and leads the way out of the house, never once letting go of Lexa’s hand.

 

The drive to Clarke’s is slow going. Lexa has had a ton of adrenaline coursing through her system, but she’s still pretty sure she’s not entirely sober, so she’s extra careful to observe all speed limits. They also have to turn around a couple of times because Clarke is not paying attention and forgets to direct Lexa until they’ve passed an intersection. By the time Clarke announces that they’ve arrived, it’s nearly midnight.

Lexa’s friends refer to Clarke as “Princess,” and Lexa is suddenly inclined to agree. The girl lives in a fucking palace: an imposing gray stone manor set back from the street behind an expanse of immaculate grass punctuated by huge palm trees. The yard is illuminated with accent lights so passersby can admire the property at all hours. There’s even a wrought iron gate with a passcode. Lexa would normally make several sarcastic comments, but, A) Clarke doesn’t deserve that right now, and, B) Lexa is honestly too overwhelmed to come up with anything to say.

When Lexa has parked the car—a white two-seater Mercedes convertible—in a garage approximately the size of her whole house, she realizes she never told Anya what was going on. She pulls out her phone and swallows her pride; she’s never going to hear the end of it when she tells her sister where she is.

“What are you doing?”

Clarke is standing in the doorway to her house, looking back at Lexa expectantly.

“I need to call my sister and get a ride home.”

Clarke shakes her head. “It’s late. Come on.”

By the time Lexa comprehends the situation enough to protest, Clarke has walked inside and out of Lexa’s view. Lexa knows this is a terrible idea, but sleeping at Clarke’s house seems less mortifying than calling Anya right now. She texts her sister to let her know she’s safe, then enters the house. She may as well be fully rested when the tormenting about going home with Clarke begins, and she’s also curious to see the palace from the inside.

The doorway leads Lexa into a fully finished basement with plush carpeting, a pool table, a bar, and a home theater. She’d love to take some time to explore, but Clarke seems to have forgotten that she is escorting a guest and has already disappeared, presumably up the stairs to the main level.

Lexa emerges into the foyer and finds Clarke seated on the bottom step of a grand wooden staircase in the middle of a sea of polished marble. The whole scene looks like a modern version of Cinderella, except Clarke isn’t wearing either of her shoes (they were left in the car with all her other things). Her face lights up when she sees Lexa. She puts her finger to her lips before tiptoeing upstairs, clutching the banister as if she fears the world might decide to redefine which way is up.

Clarke’s bedroom is…Lexa doesn’t even know how to describe it. She’s out of princess metaphors. The carpet feels soft enough to sleep on. The bed has a fucking canopy. Everything is white or pale blue. She has her own en suite bathroom, as well as a lounge area with a glass table and a couple of velvety armchairs. Lexa curls up in one of the armchairs and quickly averts her eyes when Clarke starts removing her clothes.

“Uh, Lexa?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t unzip my dress.”

 _Fuck._ This has got to be a bad joke. Lexa cautiously makes her way over to Clarke. The blonde still appears fully clothed, but Lexa swallows roughly at the sight of Clarke’s underwear around her ankles. And this dress barely counts as a full outfit: it doesn’t have any sleeves or straps and the skirt barely brushes the top of Clarke’s thighs. It’s basically a red spandex tube held up by a zipper and Clarke’s chest. And Lexa is tasked with removing the former. She wishes she’d paid more attention to her mom’s meditation CDs. She could use a calming breath exercise right now.

Lexa’s fingertips manage to only come into contact with Clarke’s bare back twice. She unzips the dress about three-quarters of the way. Clarke can manage the rest, and Lexa is not about to continue when she knows Clarke isn’t wearing anything underneath. She mumbles “finished”, retreats to the armchair, and closes her eyes.

Clarke giggles. “It’s okay, Lexa. We’re both girls, and we’re totally friends now!”

So she doesn’t know. After last year, Lexa didn’t think there was anyone left at their school who didn’t know she was a lesbian, but Clarke must be too wrapped up in the popular crowd to worry about the drama of the common high school students, or too drunk now to remember. Would they still be ‘totally friends’ if she knew?

Lexa hears Clarke approach and feels a tap on her shoulder. The blonde is dressed in a white tank top and pale blue silk shorts. Her pajamas match her room. This is getting surreal. Clarke offers Lexa a change of clothes, but Lexa thinks she might completely lose touch with reality if she accepts. She needs to retain something of her own as she navigates this dream world. And her boxer briefs cover as much of her legs as Clarke’s shorts do, anyway. She removes her bra and pants in the bathroom. When she returns to the bedroom, Clarke is already in bed, her face buried among her many pillows.

Lexa stands awkwardly at the side of the bed. “Do you have an extra blanket or something?”

Clarke’s head pops up from the pile of fluff. “What for?” She seems genuinely confused. It’s adorable.

“So I can sleep…” Lexa points to the armchair.

Clarke’s eyebrows knit together and her lips form a thin line. “Lexa.” She pats the bed beside her. “Come.”

It’s a command, and Lexa’s body takes a step forward without consulting her brain. Her heart strains against the boundaries of her ribcage, and she’s in the midst of the worst goosebump attack of her life, but she obeys. She wishes she could say she’s surprised when Clarke closes the last remaining bit of distance between them and throws an arm over Lexa’s waist. Maybe wearing just her t-shirt and boxers wasn’t such a good idea; Lexa feels very exposed. Her legs are brushing against Clarke’s legs. Her chest is pressed up against Clarke’s chest. Clarke somehow leans even closer to Lexa and whispers, “Thank you.”

Lexa had almost forgotten the incident that set this night in motion, and her stomach drops a little. Against her better judgement, she encircles Clarke in her arms. Clarke shifts down to rest her head on Lexa’s chest.

Lexa doesn’t know how to respond to Clarke’s gratitude. “It was nothing, really. I just did what anyone would have done.”

“No.” Clarke looks up at her, and Lexa forgets how to breathe. Clarke takes Lexa’s face in her hands so Lexa can’t look away. “You’re wrong, Lexa. That wasn’t normal. That was special. _You’re_ special.” She pauses for a moment, and Lexa sees her straining to keep her eyes open.

Clarke’s head falls back onto the pillows, and she pulls Lexa down with her. “You’re, like, my knight in shining armor.”

Lexa laughs softly, the sound catching at the back of her throat when she sees Clarke leaning toward her. Clarke presses an airy kiss to Lexa’s cheek. She pulls back just enough to scour Lexa with a deep, probing stare. Tension rolls off of their bodies in waves. Before Lexa knows what is happening, their lips meet. The contact lasts less than a second. Lexa is not completely sure she didn’t imagine it, but when she runs her tongue across her bottom lip she tastes Clarke’s fruity lip gloss and all the blood in her body rushes between her legs. She opens her eyes and Clarke smiles sleepily at her. The look in those blue eyes breaks Lexa’s last ties to what she’d thought of as reality and she kisses Clarke. She pours her whole self into the kiss, body and soul, anchoring her fingers in the hair at the base of Clarke’s skull and gripping tightly so as not to float away. Lexa can no longer tell where she ends and Clarke begins. There is no space between their bodies. They breathe in unison. Someone moans into the kiss. Someone’s tongue enters someone else’s mouth. Hands wander over swaths of bare skin, fingers grasping at anything that will hold their bodies together. They fall asleep in a tangle of sheets, hair, and limbs.


	4. Cliff's Edge

_Chills run down my back / I’mma flirt with that / Get a little closer / Get a little closer / Cliff’s edge / You turn me on / You lead me on / You got me on a cliff’s edge where I belong / You got me on / You turn me on – Hayley Kiyoko_

 

When Lexa opens her eyes, the world is golden. She feels like she is wrapped in a cloud, if clouds were warm and soft and fluffy, not simply conglomerations of condensing water molecules. It takes her a minute to get her bearings; everything around her still seems like a dream. Something tickles her nose, and she realizes that the golden tinge to her vision is Clarke’s hair. She is in Clarke’s bed. She slept in Clarke’s bed. The rest of the night comes rushing back and it’s too much for Lexa to handle. Clarke. Kissing Clarke. Drunk, vulnerable Clarke who just wanted Lexa’s help and support. Clarke, who Lexa rescued from unwanted advances at the party, only to follow her home and totally take advantage of her in the exact same way. Clarke, one of the few people Lexa can say she genuinely likes, and who could have liked her, too, if she hadn’t just fucked everything up.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck….” she mutters, sliding out from beneath Clarke’s arm and hastily gathering her clothes. As soon as she’s dressed, she runs down the stairs, through the mansion’s giant double doors, and down the driveway. Luckily, the gate is not locked from the inside, and she pushes through. She keeps running until she can’t see the house anymore, then slows to a brisk walk and calls Anya. 

Her sister has either miraculously acquired some consideration and self-restraint or been body-snatched, because she doesn’t ask what Lexa is doing in this neighborhood or what happened last night. Maybe she can tell just how terrible Lexa feels right now and doesn’t want to get into it. 

Anya drops her at home, and Lexa spends the day locked in her room, wrapped in a blanket and blasting her music, emerging only to refill her mug of tea about ten times. She’s got a bit of a headache from last night, but if her mother weren’t home she’d be drinking herself into oblivion. She can’t deal with any of the thoughts in her head. 

Raven calls at some point in the afternoon, wanting to make plans for the dance that night. 

“Sorry, Rav. I can’t. I’m sick.” 

“Bullshit. You don’t get sick. I’m coming over.” 

It takes Raven less than five minutes to arrive outside Lexa’s bedroom door. She manages to knock loudly enough for Lexa to hear her over the Ramones, and she musters the energy to get off her bed and open the door for her friend. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey yourself.” Raven wheels into the room, eyeing Lexa’s pajamas and hoodie with disapproval. “You look terrible. I brought cookies.” 

Lexa doesn’t have time to get angry about Raven’s insult because she’s too busy lunging for the cookies. Raven’s mom makes the best _dulce de leche_ sandwich cookies. They aren’t the cure for all of Lexa’s problems, but they sure taste like it. 

Raven watches Lexa stuff her face for a minute, then hoists herself out of her wheelchair and into Lexa’s more comfortable desk chair. “Alright. You’re not sick. What’s actually going on?” 

Lexa slumps against her wall. “I spent the night in Clarke Griffin’s bed.” 

Raven frowns at Lexa as if her friend is a particularly puzzling calculus problem. “You what?” 

Lexa sighs and flops down on her bed, looking at the ceiling instead of her friend. She eventually manages to repeat a brief summary of the previous night. She speaks at double speed, trying to just get this conversation over with. 

“Wow.” That’s all Raven has to say, which is uncharacteristic. 

“Yeah. So, after all of that, I don’t exactly feel like going to the homecoming dance and watching Clarke be crowned homecoming princess. In fact, I’d like to never go to school again.” 

“Fair enough. Do you want me to stay here with you tonight?” 

“No. You go. You’ve been looking forward to this, and I think I’d rather be alone, anyway.” 

Raven looks like she wants to protest. “Okay. But you know you can call me at any time, right?” 

Lexa nods. “Thanks, Raven.” 

“ _De nada_ , Lex. You’ve got people looking out for you. Don’t forget that.” She slides back into her wheelchair and Lexa hears her speaking with Lexa’s mom before she leaves. 

Lexa’s mom lures her out of her room with her favorite dinner: spaghetti and homemade meatballs with spicy tomato sauce and chocolate chip ice cream for dessert. Raven must have told her mom that something serious was going on, because there is no mention of vegetables throughout the entire meal. This means Lexa is being pampered. Other than the cookies, Lexa hasn’t eaten all day, and she inhales two plates of spaghetti and about half of the carton of ice cream. 

Her mom pops some popcorn and they burrow into the couch. Lexa picks the movie: Beauty and the Beast. They both know all the words to every song. When the movie ends, Lexa is smiling through her yawns. Her mom hands her a cup of warm milk and offers to tuck her in. 

“That’s okay, mom,” Lexa reassures her. 

“ _Laku noć, miljenik_.” Her mom kisses the top of her head and holds her close. Sometimes it’s nice to have a family that doesn’t ask any questions. 

 

Lexa very much wants to stay home on Monday, but she has to get up for her paper route and it doesn’t make sense to go back home once she’s already been out for nearly two hours. So she puts her hood up and her head down and hopes for the best.

Lexa makes a mental list. Arrive in class before Clarke? Check. Sit in back? Check. Keep head down throughout? Check. Resist looking for her in the front of the room? Check. Leave in a crowd as soon as the bell rings? Check. She scurries out of the classroom and is first to arrive to her next class. A part of her brain feels it necessary to inform her that this is a totally unsustainable routine, but Lexa pushes the thought from her mind. They only have eight more months of school this year… 

Lexa uses her lunch period to catch up on some of the homework she didn’t get to this weekend (and to hide in the library from all of the people she doesn’t want asking her what’s wrong). She finds it hard to concentrate on anything, though. Her eyes begin to glaze over as she reviews the Krebs cycle for the third time. She jolts in her seat when her phone buzzes. 

_832-786-0226 (12:21pm):_ Hey it’s Clarke :) 

“Holy shit!” Lexa half-drops, half-throws her phone to the library floor, earning dirty looks from the few other students trying to study and a vigorous shushing from the librarian. Lexa apologizes and retrieves her phone. 

_Lexa (12:24pm):_ How did you get my number???   
_832-786-0226 (12:24pm):_ I asked Jasper to ask Monty to ask Raven. I hope that’s okay.   
_832-786-0226 (12:24pm):_ I just wanted to make sure everything is okay. I woke up yesterday and you were gone.   
_832-786-0226 (12:25pm):_ Also you left your bra at my house… 

Lexa is mortified. How did she forget her bra? 

_Lexa (12:26pm):_ haha yeah I guess I did   
_832-786-0226 (12:26pm):_ I have it with me. I could meet you in the locker room after practice today?   
_Lexa (12:26pm):_ That’s okay. I’m not feeling that well so I won’t be at practice today anyway   
_832-786-0226 (12:28pm):_ Oh   
_832-786-0226 (12:28pm):_ Okay   
_832-786-0226 (12:28pm):_ I hope you feel better   
_832-786-0226 (12:28pm):_ See you around?   
_Lexa (12:30pm):_ see you 

Lexa silently congratulates herself on not totally falling apart during that encounter. She’s going to have to forget about that bra; she’s not getting it back. She would like to forget about Clarke, too, but that’s going to take some work. 

 

The next few weeks pass uneventfully. Lexa engages her evasive maneuvers in first period and develops a habit of showering at home instead of in the locker room after practice. Clarke texts her a couple more times the first week, but Lexa doesn’t respond, and Clarke falls silent. Lexa tells herself that this is good, that she feels good about that fact. It’s probably best if Clarke just forgets who Lexa is and they go back to their separate lives, which were just fine before all of this craziness.

Lexa dives into her running and has her best cross country season ever. Running has clear direction, clear objectives: either you’re faster than the other girls out there, or you’re not. And Lexa is. She’s consistently one of the top girls on the team, and she even wins a couple big races. Her times improve almost every day, and she inspires her teammates to work harder, too. Her coach takes notice, constantly praising her. It feels good to be doing something right. 

Raven is increasingly busy with robotics and Lexa is still teetering on the edge of a breakdown, but they always welcome the distraction of their favorite holiday. 

“Any ideas yet?” Raven asks her friend, not looking up from her tumblr dashboard. Scouring the internet for costume inspiration is serious business. 

“We could always be Bonnie and Clyde again.” 

Raven groans. “We did that two years ago!” 

“It’s a classic!” 

“It’s boring. You’re making Halloween boring! Honestly, how dare you.” 

Lexa turns back to her own laptop. “Ugh, all the girl costumes are ‘sexy’ this or ‘sexy’ that. There are even sexy TARDISs! The TARDIS isn’t sexy; it’s a machine!” 

“Lexa, you’re a genius.” 

“Raven, I am absolutely, 100% drawing a line at sexy TARDIS.” 

“No. Not that. Ew. But machines…” 

Lexa is pretty sure Raven does find machines sexy, but that’s neither here nor there. “What about them?” 

“What’s my favorite movie?” 

“ _Big Hero 6_.” 

“No. My other favorite movie. The not-embarrassing one.” 

“Ah. _A New Hope_.” 

They look at each other, then shout in unison, “Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon!” They high five in celebration. 

Lexa eyes her friend inquisitively. “Not a sexy Millennium Falcon, right?” 

“Are you saying I’m not sexy enough as is?” 

Lexa raises her hands defensively in front of her chest. “I said nothing.” 

 

Lexa already has a toy gun from her Clyde costume, and the other pieces are easy to find at Goodwill. Raven’s costume is a big project, though, and the girls neglect a fair bit of housework and homework in favor of painting and gluing bits of cardboard. Raven incorporates some defunct hardware from a computer she’s repairing, and the finished product looks very polished and professional. And Raven’s chair comes in handy as a sturdy base to hold everything up.

Octavia is hosting a small Halloween party for the track team, the perfect opportunity to debut their costumes before the main event next week. Lexa feels very confident dressed as Han Solo: the black vest and white V-neck combination really works. Underneath, she wears her favorite black sports bra, which is cut low enough not to show over the collar of her shirt and also streamlines her already small chest into a fairly believable male figure. She’s pulled her hair back in a French braid and cobbled together a holster from a couple of old belts. This is probably her best Halloween costume since she went as a knight in the third grade (Raven was her dragon). 

Lexa holds the door open for Raven and they enter the party. Lexa is impressed by the decorations: strings of orange and purple lights edging the living room windows, cobwebs in every corner, furniture draped in black fabric, the whole enchilada. 

A giant punch bowl filled with candy overwhelms the table next to the front door. Lexa chooses a Laffy Taffy and reads out the joke on the wrapper as she begins to chew. 

“Hey, Raven. Did you hear the one about the pumpkin and the skeleton who walked into a bar?” 

“Lexa…” Raven’s tone is serious, but Lexa wants to keep telling her joke. 

“No, see, it’s funny, ‘cause—” 

“Lexa!” Raven grabs her friend’s arm and pulls, causing Lexa to spin around. 

Sitting on the couch on the far side of the room, dressed in a flowing white long-sleeved gown, hair dyed brown and rolled into buns on either side of her head, is Clarke. She’s dressed as Princess Leia, and practically sitting in the lap of Bellamy Blake, Octavia’s older brother and the boys’ track team captain. 

Lexa chokes on her taffy. Her gun, which she hadn’t even realized she was holding, clatters when it hits the floor. This is bad. People are staring. She is unable to move or even look away. And then Clarke looks back. 

When Clarke starts to disentangle herself from Bellamy, Lexa remembers how to move and lets her legs carry her anywhere but here. 

She runs down the hall and stumbles into the first room she finds, pulling the door closed behind her. She leans back against the door and slides down, coming to rest on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees. 

“Lexa?” 

It’s Clarke. Of course. Lexa may be adept at lying to herself, but she isn’t deluded enough to believe that Clarke wouldn’t come after her. And this damn door doesn’t lock. Maybe if Lexa folds herself small enough, she will cease to exist. She settles for scooting into the corner of the room and tucking herself behind the bedside table. 

Clarke opens the door slowly and steps inside. Her dress is much shorter than Leia’s, stopping right below her knees. Tall white boots hug her calves and almost meet the hem of the dress. She stands in the center of the room and Lexa thinks maybe she won’t notice her. 

“I know you’re in here. This was the only room with a closed door.” 

Lexa can’t help but whisper, “shit.” Clarke’s head whips around and out of the corner of Lexa’s eye she can see Clarke spot her. 

“I know Lexa’s been avoiding me for weeks, but I didn’t think Han Solo was the type to run away.” 

Lexa remains huddled in her hiding spot. Clarke slides in next to her, and Lexa presses closer against the wall. “I’ve always been good at running. It comes as naturally to me as invading people’s personal space does to you, princess.” 

Clarke lets out a short, humorless laugh. “From what I remember, I wasn’t the only one with a loose definition of personal space.” 

Lexa stills, realizing the irony of her earlier statement. Clarke could never invade Lexa’s space and overstep her bounds as much as Lexa already has. Nevertheless, Clarke stands again, leaving Lexa alone in her corner. 

“Tell me something: was I really so terrible in bed that you never want to see me again? I know I’ve never been with a girl before, but I thought I was doing okay, and you seemed to enjoy it--” “That’s not…that’s…what?” Lexa’s world shakes a little on its axis as she tries to comprehend the implications of Clarke’s words. _“Terrible in bed”? “Been with a girl”?_ They hadn’t done much more than make out that night. And why would Clarke care what Lexa thought about it? Lexa doesn’t want to go down that mental road. She changes the subject. 

“I didn’t know you were with Bellamy.” 

“I’m not ‘with’ him.” 

“What were you doing in his lap, then?” 

Clarke’s face darkens and she narrows her eyes. “He’s not a bad guy. He’s cute, and he asked me to the party.” 

“That’s it?” Lexa can tell she’s annoying Clarke, but she doesn’t mind. 

“Yeah. That’s it. I like Halloween parties, and it’s not like I had any other offers…” Her expression crosses the line from ‘annoyed’ to ‘hurt.’ 

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Lexa surprises herself by practically yelling. “I’m sorry I took advantage of you that night. I’m sorry I ran away. I was too ashamed to face you. I didn’t know what I could do to make it better, so I just did nothing and hoped it would all go away.” 

Clarke softens. She sits on the floor again, this time facing Lexa and about a foot away. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I was kind of scared, too. Between you and me and the stuff at that party I’m pretty sure it was the most terrifying night of my life.” She moves a bit closer. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about it since then. I can’t stop thinking about it. And if you did want to apologize for something, I’d accept an apology for not texting me back. This whole thing is really confusing and I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.” 

“And you think you can talk to me?” 

Clarke nods. Lexa raises an eyebrow. “About _me_?” 

Clarke looks down at her lap, then back at Lexa. “Could we try?” 

It’s the damsel-in-distress act. It’s very obvious. That doesn’t make it less effective. 

“Okay, yeah. What did you want to talk about, exactly?” 

Clarke bites her bottom lip so hard it looks painful. 

Lexa leans forward and takes Clarke’s hand. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry for avoiding you. I thought you’d be better off staying away from me. You were drunk and needed me to take care of you, and I--” 

“Let’s get one thing straight; I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’m a big girl, Lexa. I can take care of myself.” 

“You’re right. Sorry.” Lexa releases Clarke’s hand and brings both of her own to her forehead. “I keep screwing this up.” 

“Honey, you are doing the exact opposite of screwing this up.” Clarke moves Lexa’s hands and brushes some stray hairs out of Lexa’s face, tucking them behind her ears. She runs her thumb along Lexa’s jawline, pausing under her chin. 

Lexa’s heart beats faster. She cautiously meets the other girl’s eyes. “So, do you still want to talk?” 

Clarke moves a little closer. She is practically kneeling in Lexa’s lap. She leans forward, brushing Lexa’s nose with her own and bracing herself with a hand on Lexa’s thigh. “We don’t have to talk at all…” 

This is really happening. There are no mind-altering substances involved. It is not the middle of the night. And Clarke is dressed as Princess Leia. This is probably the best moment of Lexa’s life. Clarke closes her eyes and leans toward Lexa. 

“Dude, that is so hot!” 

The girls scramble to their feet and turn toward the voice. Bellamy is standing just inside the doorway. He looks surprisingly chill for someone who just walked in on his date about to kiss another girl. 

“I didn’t know you were bi, Clarke.” 

“I’m not...I mean, I’m not sure. I…” 

Lexa has had about enough of this. She supposes it’s her own fault for getting involved with a popular girl; there’s always so much drama in that crowd. “I’m out of here.” She skirts around Bellamy and heads for the door. 

“Lexa, wait!” Clarke calls out to her, but Lexa doesn’t look back. She’s stopped short, though, when Bellamy grabs her shoulder. 

“Hang on. I think we need to clarify something here. There is no kissing allowed in my room unless I’m involved.” 

“Your room…?” Lexa takes in her surroundings for the first time: House Stark poster above the bed, giant bookshelf full of comics, track medals hung on the wall by the desk…shit. She was about to kiss Bellamy’s date in his room. The closer she gets to Clarke, the more her life looks like a bad teen drama. 

Bellamy still has her by the shoulder. “What do y’all say we reconvene here after the party and pick up where y’all left off?” 

“Oh my god!” Lexa feels physically ill when she thinks about sharing the girl she likes with this douchebag. _“The girl she likes”?! Since when is that the language we’re using?_ Lexa quiets the stupid voice in her head. There are more important issues at hand here. 

But Clarke doesn’t seem to think it’s such a bad idea. “Um, okay. Lexa?” 

_Don’t look at her eyes. Don’t look at her eyes. Don’t look at her eyes…_ Lexa looks at Clarke’s eyes. 

 

She finds Raven in the kitchen with Octavia, who’s dressed as some kind of Viking warrior. They are hunched over their phones, deeply embroiled in some debate about the newest update of Pokémon Go. Both girls shut right up when they notice Lexa.

Raven offers Lexa a seat next to her at the table. “I really want to be a good friend here, but the bigger part of me is dying for details. What happened?” 

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Nothing. Something was about to, maybe, but then Bellamy walked in and said we were ‘hot’ and asked about a threesome…” 

“Boys are gross,” Raven affirms. 

Lexa looks across the table at the room’s third occupant. “Sorry, Octavia, but your brother can be a real jackass sometimes.” 

Octavia smirks. “You’re telling me? Which of us grew up with the guy?” The three girls share a chuckle. “But seriously,” Octavia continues, “I love Bell. He’s a great big brother. The best. But I pity any girl who wants to be more than friends. He just doesn’t understand how to treat women.” She grabs a Milky Way and pops it in her mouth. “Clarke is way better off with you, for sure.” 

She says it so cavalierly, through the caramel and nougat, like Clarke and Lexa are already a done deal, like it can just happen and everything will be fine. Like dating Lexa wouldn’t upend Clarke’s entire world. Like dating is something the two of them have agreed to, have even talked about. 

Lexa laughs nervously, tugging on her braid. “Heh. Yeah.” 

“So, then what happened?” Raven asks. 

“Then I left.” 

“So where are Clarke and Bellamy?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“And that doesn’t bother you?” 

“Not really. I told them I’d be back in--” 

“Jesus Christ, Lexa. Does that mean what I think it means?” 

Lexa claps a hand over her mouth. She’s said too much. 

Raven eyes her friend suspiciously. “Did you, Aleksandra Ivana Kurjak, agree to have a threesome with Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake?” 

“Um…” 

“What. The. Fuck.” 

Octavia gets up from her chair, “So, I’m just gonna…” and powerwalks out into the living room. 

When Octavia has left the room, Raven hits her friend in the back of the head. 

“Ow! Was that really necessary?” 

“I was hoping to knock some sense into you! Honestly, Lex, you’ve made some questionable decisions these past few weeks, but this is probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. This is worse than jumping off the roof with wings made out of bedsheets, worse than finishing that race after you broke your foot, worse than chasing down those boys from Ellicott High with a pool noodle…Shit, this might be worse than getting drunk before your grandmother’s funeral! I don’t know what to say to you anymore. Where the Hell is my best friend?” 

“Raven, you’re overreacting.” 

“Don’t tell me what I’m doing! I’m the sane one here!” She takes a deep breath and seems to calm down a bit. “Come on, Lex. Give me something to work with. What’s going on in that head of yours?” 

Lexa sighs, sliding down in her chair and staring at the ceiling. “I’ve got it bad, Rav. Everything I’ve done I did because she asked or because I thought it was what she wanted. It’s pretty scary, actually, like I can’t resist her.” 

“Did Leia finally learn Jedi mind tricks?” Raven jokes, and the tension breaks. “It is kind of cool that she’s here as Leia, though. Kind of like fate.” 

Lexa crosses her arms. “You know I don’t believe in fate.” 

“I know.” Raven smiles sadly at her friend. “So what are you going to do?” 

Lexa sighs. “I have no idea.” 

“Does that include heading back into that bedroom tonight?” 

“I’ll go tell them I changed my mind.” 

“I’m sorry if I was too harsh before. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, and this whole situation has ‘emotional deathtrap’ written all over it, threesome or no threesome.” 

“I know. It’s crazy. But sometimes you have to do something even if you know it could kill you. Sometimes it’s worth the risk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's mom is an ethnically Croatian refugee from Bosnia. She said, "Good night, darling."


	5. Girls/Girls/Boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So, if you were triggered by the last chapter, you may not want to read the first scene, though I stand by what I said in the comments about never "putting Lexa with a man." I'll put a line of x's in the text at the end of the possibly objectionable section. Thanks for sticking with this even after that last chapter. It gets less angsty, I promise. They just have some shit to work through first.

_And never did I think that I / Would be caught in the way you got me / But girls love girls and boys / And love is not a choice - Panic! at the Disco_

 

Bellamy’s bedroom door is closed. Lexa knocks. “Hello?” No answer. She lets herself in and finds Bellamy sitting on his bed with a guitar in his lap.

“Hey, Blake. Learning the guitar to get laid?” 

He looks up and smirks at her. It looks just like Octavia’s smirk from earlier. “Looks like I don’t need any help with that, Kurjak. I’ve got girls knocking on my door.” He might be a dick, but at least he can pronounce her last name. 

Lexa scoffs. “I’m not here for you, believe me.” She sits on the bed, careful to keep a good bit of space between the two of them. 

“What are you dressed as anyway?” she asks. Bellamy has on jeans and a green t-shirt. 

He grins. “I’m a serial killer. They look just like everyone else.” 

“That’s so lame! Though I appreciate the _Addams Family_ reference. I’ve always thought that would be a good group costume.” 

“What?” 

“Seriously? You’ve never heard of _The Addams Family_?” 

He looks at her blankly, and Lexa throws her hands up. “Ugh. I don’t know what Clarke sees in you.” 

“That makes two of us. At least I’m not a skinny little lesbo freak.” He smiles so she can tell he’s joking, and gently shoves her shoulder. Lexa is once again struck by the similarity between him and his sister. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy, after all. 

“Listen, Bellamy. I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“Are you scared I’ll convert you or something?” He sticks out his tongue, then sets his guitar on the floor and pulls his shirt over his head. “My abs _have_ been known to make several otherwise-straight gentlemen reconsider their sexualities.” He winks at her and lies on his back to show off his stomach. 

“In your dreams, asshole.” Lexa has to admit that they are nice abs, but she doesn’t have to say it out loud. And she has nice abs, too. 

“Don’t worry, dude. I’ll stick to the plan. You don’t touch me. I don’t touch you.” 

“But seriously, maybe we should--” 

“Maybe we should what?” Clarke appears in the doorway, a grin blossoming on her face when she takes in the scene on the bed. “I hope y’all weren’t starting without me.” 

Lexa and Bellamy gag in unison. Clarke laughs. “Good.” She slips in between them on the bed. Her hair is wet, and it’s blonde again. She must have taken a shower. She smells like summer. It’s heady and intoxicating. 

Bellamy sits up again. The three teenagers sit shoulder-to-shoulder, looking at their feet. 

“So…” Lexa tries, but the rest of the sentence is lost on its way to her mouth. She’s beginning to worry that she won’t be able to get out of this. 

“Liquid courage?” Bellamy produces a bottle of vodka and three shot glasses from beneath his bed. They cannot be sanitary, but that proof of alcohol will kill most things, and Lexa isn’t in a position to decline. If she’s going to go through with this, she’ll need all the help she can get. 

They take three shots in quick succession. Lexa hardly tastes the vodka on her tongue; she’s too preoccupied with Clarke. After weeks of avoiding her, being inches from her face is overwhelming. Lexa feels the resolve from her conversation with Raven fading away. 

Clarke gathers the bottle and glasses and sets them on Bellamy’s desk. She comes around to the side of the bed again, then looks down. 

“No shoes in bed,” she chastises Lexa, who is still wearing her boots. Clarke drops to her knees in front of Lexa and removes the boots. When she ducks her head, it looks like she is bowing to Lexa, and Lexa feels liquid pooling between her legs. 

When she’s finished with the shoes, Clarke places her hands on Lexa’s thighs to pull herself up. She stands unsteadily, rocking back and forth on her heels. Three shots in a row may have been too much for Clarke. Lexa puts a hand on the other girl’s back for support, but the contact ends up pitching Clarke forward. The girls fall back onto the bed, Clarke lying on top of Lexa and between her legs. The impact of the blonde’s body on certain sensitive areas causes Lexa to let out a breathy moan. She glances up at Clarke, embarrassed, but the blonde just smiles and kisses her. 

It’s sweet at first, and playful, but quickly deepens into passionate heat. Lexa props herself up on her elbows so Clarke can remove Lexa’s vest, then, a minute later, her shirt. Even without them, Lexa feels far too warm. She is on fire from the inside. She grips Clarke firmly, holding the blonde in place on top of her and pressing her hips up into the other girl. 

Bellamy clears his throat. “As much as I’m enjoying this, ladies—and, honestly, I am—isn’t it my turn?” 

Clarke extricates herself from Lexa’s grasp and crawls over to Bellamy. Lexa doesn’t particularly want to watch—honestly, she’d forgotten he was there—but she can’t take her eyes off Clarke. The blonde slowly approaches Bellamy and looks up at him, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. He takes her hands and guides them to his shoulders, then leans in and kisses her. Clarke lets him take the lead. He pulls her down on top of him. His hand travels to the back of her thigh, pushing up the hem of her skirt. 

Clarke breaks contact with Bellamy and turns to Lexa, reaching out to pull Lexa toward her. Lexa prays to God that she survives this absurdity, then accepts Clarke’s hand. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

The three of them now lie side-by-side in Bellamy’s bed, which is not intended to fit more than one or two people. Clarke nuzzles into Lexa. Lexa strokes Clarke’s hair and Clarke hums quietly. Her eyelids droop and her breathing slows and evens. Lexa chuckles to herself; Clarke falls asleep so easily. 

Bellamy shifts toward Clarke, leaning his face down to hers. 

“She’s _asleep_ , you pervert!” Lexa shoves Bellamy with more force than she’d intended, sending him toppling off the edge of the bed. When he gets to his feet, Lexa has made her body into a shield around Clarke. 

“Dude, I didn’t know.” Bellamy sounds sincerely apologetic. 

Lexa tentatively accepts this. “Okay.” 

Bellamy massages the back of his head and winces a little. “Jeez, Lexa. Protective much?” 

“Uh, well, I…” 

“You really love her, don’t you?” 

“What?!” Lexa sputters. She doesn’t love Clarke. Honestly, they hardly know each other. It’s not possible. It doesn’t make sense. 

Bellamy smiles. “Okay, okay. Forget I said anything. How discourteous of me to imply that the great and powerful Lexa Kurjak has _feelings_.” 

She frowns at him. “Ha ha. Very funny.” 

“It’ll be our little secret.” He winks at her, then begins rummaging through the pile of crap on the floor of his closet. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting myself a blanket. I’m gonna go sleep on the couch. It looks as though my bed is full, and I’m getting tired.” 

Lexa moves to stand up. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“I should, though. Clarke isn’t going anywhere any time soon, and, contrary to popular belief, I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He grabs a fleece blanket from the closet and heads for the door. The blanket is decorated with cartoonish spaceships. Lexa decides not to mock him for this. Instead, she offers him one of the pillows from his bed. She and Clarke can share the other. 

He takes the pillow. “Good night, Lexa. And remember the rule: no kissing.” The signature Blake smirk lights up his features. 

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Good night, Bellamy.” She stifles her smile until he’s shut off the light and pulled the door closed. She looks down at Clarke, silhouetted in the pale moonlight filtering through the window. Lexa clears the hair from Clarke’s face and the blonde stirs in her sleep. 

“Good night, Clarke,” Lexa whispers. She bends Bellamy’s rule by lightly kissing Clarke’s forehead and each of her cheeks before burrowing into bed beside her. 

 

Lexa wakes to the sun shining through Bellamy’s window. Clarke is still asleep, lips slightly parted, head resting against Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa lies still, memorizing every aspect of this moment to revisit next time she needs a pick-me-up. Even with bedhead and a tiny spot of drool on her cheek, Clarke still looks like a princess.

Lexa would love to lie in this bed forever, but her bladder has other plans. She lifts Clarke’s arm off of her torso and slides out of bed. Clarke scowls in her sleep when Lexa leaves, and Lexa tries not to grin too much. 

After she pees, Lexa follows her nose to the kitchen. Octavia stands at the stove, flipping pancakes onto a plate beside her. A shirtless boy Lexa doesn’t know sits at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. She uses the term ‘boy’ loosely; he looks more like a man. He hardly fits in the chair, and seems like he’d be more at home in a wrestling ring than a suburban kitchen. His eyes follow her as she enters the room and approaches Octavia. 

Lexa clears her throat. “Good morning.” 

Octavia looks up from the pancakes. “That explains what Bell is doing on the couch. I’m _so_ glad my parents are out of town this weekend. Shall I assume I’m cooking for Clarke as well?” 

Lexa nods. “Anything I can do to help?” she asks Octavia, not quite meeting her eyes. 

“I could use another plate, and you can heat some syrup.” Octavia turns back to the stove. “And if you wanted to wake my brother and your lover and bring them in here, I wouldn’t object.” 

“She’s not my…not my _anything_ , really.” 

“Mmhmm. Sure,” Octavia drawls sarcastically. “So why is Bell sleeping in the living room while you two spent the night in his bed? Did that threesome turn into a twosome after all?” 

“Long story.” Lexa hopes her tone warns Octavia not to ask more questions. 

Octavia’s eyes shine with laughter. “I’ll bet.” She points to the guy at the table. “This is Lincoln, my ‘long story’.” 

The guy dips his head in Lexa’s general direction as a greeting. He looks way too old to be with a high school sophomore, but Lexa doesn’t want to get into that right now. She walks out into the living room and shakes Bellamy awake, then heads back to the bedroom. 

Clarke is still in bed, but her eyes are open. 

Clarke smiles at Lexa. “There you are. Maybe one of these days I’ll actually get to wake up next to you.” Her blue eyes grow impossibly wide. “I mean, not that I’m assuming we would necessarily be in the same bed again any time soon or anything…It’s just funny that it’s happened twice and then you’re always gone when I wake up.” She pauses and finally takes a breath. “Did you sleep okay?” 

Lexa nods. “Octavia’s making pancakes and Bellamy mentioned something about bacon.” 

“Great! I’m starving!” Clarke shoots out of bed and breezes past Lexa out into the hallway, attempting to calm her bedhead with her fingers as she goes. 

Breakfast is very quiet. Bellamy eats about half of the bacon by himself, glaring at Lincoln while the other boy stares at Octavia. Clarke sits next to Lexa, which is very nice. For someone who said she was starving, the blonde is taking awfully small, delicate bites from the one pancake she served herself. 

Clarke is still in her Princess Leia dress. Lexa is still dressed as Han Solo. She thinks about Raven’s comment: kind of like fate. _Raven. Fuck._ They were supposed to leave the party together. Raven definitely knows Lexa ignored her and went through with the threesome, and she doesn’t know they didn’t actually have a threesome. 

_Lexa (10:49am):_ I’m really sorry about last night _Lexa (10:49am):_ Nothing actually happened. We kissed and we fell asleep. _Lexa (10:49am):_ me and Clarke, not me and Bellamy _Lexa (10:50am):_ I’m so sorry I left you alone 

She stands up from the table. “I’ve gotta get home.” 

Octavia has noticed Bellamy glaring at Lincoln and is now glaring at Bellamy. They mumble goodbyes without looking over at her. Clarke, however, follows Lexa into the hallway. 

“Do you need a ride home?” Clarke asks as Lexa pulls her boots on. 

“I can walk.” It’s probably a half-hour walk home, but Lexa doesn’t want Clarke to see where she lives. Her house is cozy, and it’s plenty of space for her and her mom, but it could definitely use some work, and it’s nothing compared to Clarke’s palace. And Lexa definitely needs some time without the blonde to process everything that happened last night. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

“It’s no trouble, really, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t have anywhere to be. In fact, I’d be happy to.” 

“Clarke, it’s fine. Really.” 

“But I--” 

“Just _stop_ , okay?! I don’t want your help! Can’t you take no for an answer?” 

Clarke takes a step back. “Okay. Sorry.” 

Lexa storms out of the house, leaving Clarke standing in the doorway. 

 

Lexa jogs most of the way back to her neighborhood. She heads straight to Raven’s. Mrs. Reyes answers the door.

“Good morning, Lexa. That’s a lovely costume.” 

“Thanks!” she shouts as she runs toward Raven’s room. The door is unlocked, but she knocks anyway. 

“Raven?” 

“Enter if you must.” 

Lexa peeks inside. “Hi…” 

“Well look who finally decided to come home. Nice of you to remember your best friend—12 hours later.” 

“I’m terrible. I’m sorry. This thing with Clarke is like a sickness; everything else just fades away when I’m with her.” 

“You’re not sick, Lex. It’s okay. It’s love.” 

“Why does everybody keep saying that?!” 

Raven raises her eyebrows. “Everybody?” 

“You, Octavia, Bellamy…” 

“Maybe because it’s obvious to everybody but you, _chica_.” 

“I don’t love Clarke. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s definitely not as simple as that. Sure, she’s beautiful and funny, and she can be really sweet, but she’s also self-absorbed and frustrating and closeted—if she’s even queer at all.” 

“Love doesn’t always make sense, Lex. People are complicated, and there’s not much you can do about that. You can love them anyway. I, for instance, love my best friend, even when she occasionally chases cheerleaders and forgets I exist.” Raven gently knocks Lexa’s shoulder with her fist. “It’s not an excuse, but I get it.” 

Lexa regards her friend hopefully. “So, you’re not mad?” 

Raven runs a hand through her ponytail and looks away from Lexa. “No. I’m not mad.” She pauses, and Lexa waits for her to take it back, but instead she offers Lexa a seat on the bed. 

“Okay. I’m about to be more honest with you than I usually am with anyone. I’m not mad about your…whatever with Clarke. But I hated being left alone like that. I know last year was the worst thing that ever happened to you, but, in a way, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I got a best friend out of it, and every time I see you with Clarke I feel that slipping away.” 

“Raven, I--” 

“I know. It’s not cool of me to be so jealous. You deserve happiness, and if you think you can find it in that girl, more power to you. Just be careful, please. I stand by what I said about last night being a terrible idea, even if it ended up working out okay. And try not to forget about little old me.” She sticks her tongue out at Lexa, clearly trying to lighten the mood. 

Lexa offers Raven a smile before she takes her turn being uncharacteristically honest. “Honestly, I’m not sure this thing with Clarke and me is going anywhere. Even if she does have feelings for me—and I’m not sure she does—I can’t get my shit together and act like a normal human around her. We had a really good night” Raven wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Not like that! Well…anyway, things were good. I felt like I’d been hiding for nothing, and I’d almost forgiven her for pulling me into that threesome nonsense. I felt better than I had in a long time. And then she offered to drive me home and I flipped out and literally ran away.” 

“Dude, I feel you there. Wick asked me out yesterday and--” 

“Wick asked you out?! That’s so great!” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“But?” 

“I said no.” 

“Oh.” Lexa is confused. 

“So I guess we’re both a little fucked up.” Raven drapes her arm around Lexa’s shoulders. “But I love you anyway.” 

“I love you, too, Rav.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who skipped the beginning: Lexa finds Bellamy in his room. They banter a bit, and Lexa is about to call the whole thing off when a freshly showered Clarke shows up and Lexa stops thinking coherently. They take a few shots of vodka. Clarke kisses Lexa, then Bellamy, but falls asleep before anything gets serious.
> 
> Also, Lexa's last name, Kurjak, means "black wolf" in Croatian. I thought it was super cool.


	6. Almost Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Bellamy shit is done now. I'm sorry, y'all. Sometimes I let my characters take control of a story and things get out of hand. It won't happen again. On that subject, this is the end of my pre-written chapters, so if y'all have suggestions for the future, I only have a vague plot outline from here on out. And we finally get to hear a bit from Clarke. Enjoy!

_So long, my luckless romance / My back is turned on you / Should've known you'd bring me heartache / Almost lovers always do – A Fine Frenzy_

 

When Clarke pulls into her garage, she’s pleasantly surprised to see her father’s car missing. This means she won’t have to explain where she was last night. Clarke isn’t sure he would care enough to ask, anyway. They’ve been so distant lately.

She finds a note and $100 on the kitchen counter. 

_Sweetie,_  
_Farrah and I will be in Houston for the weekend scouting venues for the wedding. Treat yourself to a nice dinner or two, and don’t have too much fun while we’re gone._  
_Love,_  
_Daddy_

Clarke pockets the money, then crumples the note and tosses it in the recycling bin. She makes herself a strawberry-banana-kale smoothie, flops down on the couch in the den and turns on the TV. There’s nothing good on, of course; most people have better things to do on a Saturday afternoon. Clarke changes the channel and catches the end of a haircare commercial. A woman flips her long brown curls over her shoulder and stares soulfully at the camera. Clarke’s heart skips a beat as her brain superimposes Lexa’s face on the actress. That’s been happening a lot lately; she sees Lexa everywhere. 

Clarke lets her mind wander to last night, but then it inevitably turns to this morning, when Lexa yelled at her out of nowhere and then stormed out. She doesn’t understand this girl. What is she doing that makes Lexa keep running away? Or it could be something she isn’t doing. Clarke knows she should be more clear with Lexa about her intentions, but it’s a little hard to communicate her desires when she has no idea what she wants in the first place. 

Clarke turns off the TV and walks upstairs to her room. She sits at her desk and opens her notebook to The List. 

_Junior Year Adventures_  
\- _Attend a high school party_  
\- _Try alcohol_  
\- _Get drunk_  
\- _Drive my car as fast as it can go (140ish)_  
\- _Go farther than 1st base with a boy_  
\- _Smoke pot_  
\- _Kiss a girl_  


She adds 

_\- Stay out all night  
\- Have a threesome_

She contemplates the last one. Does last night count as a threesome? She decides it does. Three people in a bed kissing, two of them shirtless, is some form of threesome, if not the kind most people might think of. Clarke catches herself daydreaming again, and not about Bellamy. He’s nice and all, and kissing him felt good, but she keeps coming back to Lexa dressed as Han Solo. The brunette looked almost as hot in that outfit as she looked when Clarke was taking it off of her…and _damn_ , her stomach is amazing. No amount of crunches or dieting could make Clarke’s stomach look like that (and she’s tried). Cheerleaders tend to be in very good shape, but Clarke has never seen a six-pack on a girl before. She’d caught a glimpse that day in the locker room, but she got the full effect last night, and Clarke might be confused about a lot of things, but she knows she wants more of that. 

Clarke really shouldn’t daydream with a pen in her hand. The bottom half of the page is now consumed by a sketch of Lexa’s abs. Clarke blushes, though she knows there’s no one around, and tries to calm down. Her attempt at meditative humming reminds her of the tiny noises Lexa made at the back of her throat when they were kissing. Clarke gives up on writing and relocates to her bed. She hears her mother’s voice in her head: “Masturbation is normal and healthy and nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

Clarke usually doesn’t think about anything in particular while she touches herself. Sometimes she pictures herself on a beach at sunset, but mostly she focuses on the physical sensations. There is a person there with her, but it’s just a vague outline. She realizes now that this person has never been defined enough to have a clear gender. That brings her back to Bellamy’s comment last night: “I didn’t know you were bi.” She’d denied it, but he was probably right. Clarke had always thought of herself as straight—or not thought about it at all, really—but she supposes straight girls don’t enjoy kissing other girls as much as she liked kissing Lexa….and now she’s thinking about Lexa again. And still touching herself. Clarke imagines Lexa on top of her, touching her, _inside_ her, and she comes in about 30 seconds. 

This is definitely crossing a line. Clarke shouldn’t be thinking about her friend while she masturbates, even if ‘friend’ has never been a fully accurate description of their relationship. Picturing Lexa naked is an invasion of the other girl’s privacy. On the other hand, Clarke can’t exactly control her thoughts. Last night was possibly the most intimate she’s ever been with anyone, and definitely the most aroused. It’s understandable that she’s having these feelings—inevitable, even. And Lexa is really beautiful, and so gentle. There are moments when she’s clearly holding back, trying to be careful around Clarke. Clarke hopes one day Lexa feels comfortable enough to stop, to just let herself be. Not that Clarke is assuming that they will continue being intimate, necessarily…She’s got to stop assuming things like that. That’s probably what keeps upsetting Lexa. Lexa is so considerate, taking things slow, but Clarke keeps pushing the other girl: texting her when Lexa doesn’t want to talk, trying to help even when Lexa declines. 

Her phone rings. Lexa’s name flashes across the screen. 

“H-hi,” Clarke stammers when she picks up. She clears her throat and tries to clear her head. _Just be casual, like you haven’t been thinking about her constantly since she left. Like you weren’t just imagining having sex with her._

“Hey.” 

“What’s up?” 

“I wanted to apologize for this morning.” Her tone is calm, almost neutral: the opposite of everything Clarke is feeling. 

“It’s fine. Nothing to apologize for.” 

“No, really. I was rude, and you deserve an explanation. Last night, I came to the party with Raven and then totally abandoned her and didn’t even tell her she’d need to find her own way home. She wasn’t returning my texts, and I had to run over to her house and make sure she wasn’t mad at me. I didn’t want to get you all mixed up in that.” 

“Yeah.” That makes sense. And Clarke gets the feeling that Raven doesn’t like her very much, so Lexa would probably not want to show up at her friend’s house with the girl who caused Lexa to abandon Raven in the first place. That’s one more thing Clarke can add to the list of insensitive things she’s done to Lexa: pulled her away from her friend. 

“So, are we okay?” Lexa sounds worried. Clarke’s heart melts. She nods, then realizes Lexa can’t see her. 

“Yeah. We’re okay.” 

“Cool.” 

An awkward silence falls. Clarke glances around her room and spots the $100 bill peeking out of her jacket pocket. “You know, I was just about to go grab some ice cream. Do want to come?” So much for trying to back off. 

“Uh, sure.” 

Clarke lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Great! I’ll meet you at 33rd and Grant in like 20 minutes?” 

“It may take a little longer for the bus to come.” 

Clarke doesn’t offer her a ride. She’s not about to try that again so soon. “Okay. Just let me know when you’re there.” 

“Mmhmm. See you.” 

“See you.” 

 

Clarke waits outside the shop for about 15 minutes before she sees Lexa crossing the street toward her. The brunette always dresses a bit too warmly for the weather; she sports a red and black checked button down over a band t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and Converse sneakers. Clarke doesn’t know how Lexa isn’t sweating right now. Clarke has on a sundress and a lace cardigan, and she’s a little warm.

She waves to Lexa. “Hey.” 

“Hey. Where’s this ice cream shop of yours?” 

“Right here.” Clarke is confused. They’re standing right in front of it. 

“That is _not_ an ice cream shop.” 

“It’s great, I promise. My mom and I used to go here all the time. Come on.” Clarke pulls Lexa into the store. 

Lexa seems to shrink a bit when she steps inside. She stands stiffly, arms pressed to her sides, as women in brightly colored tank tops and leggings mill around her in the sunny room. She scrutinizes the menu hanging from the ceiling over the yogurt bar. “Clarke. They don’t sell ice cream here.” 

“Frozen yogurt is awesome.” 

“But not ice cream.” Lexa scrunches up her nose in disgust (which Clarke finds endearing). “This is way too healthy to even qualify as dessert. And” she lowers her voice, “what kind of stupid name is Frozen Yogi?” 

Clarke grins. “They teach yoga upstairs. Yogis eating froyo, get it?” 

Lexa rolls her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. “Can we please go get real ice cream now?” 

“And that will make you happy?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” 

 

They climb into Clarke’s car and Lexa directs them to a grubby little diner off the highway. White, red, and black ceramic tiles cover the outer walls of the boxy building, and a neon sign on the roof identifies the establishment as Mickey’s. Clarke wouldn’t normally give a place like this a second glance, but Lexa’s face lights up as they pull into the parking lot, and Clarke finds herself smiling as well.

The girls take a booth in the back corner of the diner. Lexa navigates to this particular table as if the others don’t exist. 

“Is this your regular table?” Clarke jokes. 

Lexa nods. “My mom would bring me here a lot when…” she pauses, her eyes drifting to her hands where they rest on the table, fingers knit together. “…when she had a late shift….as a waitress…” Her voice is a little husky and she still won’t look at Clarke. “Anyway, I would sit back here and color or read a book or something. It’s never busy enough that they need the table, and I was out of the way.” She slouches down against the naugahyde bench. 

Clarke doesn’t know what to do with this confession. She was aiming for light and casual, but that is clearly not working out. Luckily, the waitress stops by their table at that moment. 

“Look who it is! Been a while, Lexa.” The middle-aged woman’s warm smile wrinkles the corners of her eyes. 

“Hey, Sheryl.” Lexa whispers. She grabs one of the menus Sheryl offers and holds it in front of her face, but not before Clarke can see her start to blush. 

“What can I get you girls?” Sheryl asks. 

“I think we’ll need a minute,” Clarke tells her, narrowing her eyes at the brown hair emerging from the top of the menu across from her. Lexa says nothing. 

Sheryl leaves them to decide what they want. When she’s out of earshot, Clarke yanks the menu away from Lexa’s face. “Why did you bring me here if you were just going to get embarrassed about every little thing?” 

Lexa’s tone is icy. “Honestly? I didn’t think about it. This is where I eat ice cream. And I’ve never had a friend who cared about…” She falters. 

“I don’t care that your mom is a waitress, Lexa! I can’t believe you think I’m that shallow!” The words come out harsher than Clarke intended. 

Lexa tucks her head in front of her chest like a scolded puppy. Clarke feels terrible. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. 

“I’m sorry. I was trying to be nice, to make you happy, and here I am yelling at you.” She reaches out for Lexa’s hand across the table, then thinks better of it and picks up her menu. “Forget it. Let’s just get ice cream. What’s good here?” 

“What _isn’t_ good here? It depends what you want, I guess. Are you in the mood for a sundae? There’s the Fudge Volcano, my personal preference, I love anything with chocolate, but the Banana Boat is a classic, and if you like peanut butter, you absolutely have to get the PB Passion. The peanut butter ice cream is so creamy and they cover it in tiny peanut butter cups…or if you’re feeling a milkshake, they make really good shakes…What?” 

Clarke giggles. “You have more feelings about ice cream than most people have about their spouses.” 

“What can I say? I’m a girl of simple pleasures.” Lexa winks, and this time Clarke is the one who blushes, thoughts drifting to pleasures of another kind. This is the first time she’s found herself actively daydreaming about Lexa with the brunette present, and she squirms a little in her seat. 

 

Clarke has seen dogs about the same size as the Fudge Volcano Sheryl sets down in front of Lexa. Like, Chihuahuas, but still. _That cannot be intended for one person_.

“I can’t believe you’re going to eat all of that.” 

“Is that your way of asking for a bite? ‘Cuz you’re welcome to it. I can’t believe you got _that_.” Lexa waves her spoon in the direction of Clarke’s single scoop of ice cream. 

“You said it was your favorite flavor!” 

“It is, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t better options when you consider toppings and everything. I can have chocolate chip ice cream at home. I can’t have half a cup of hot fudge on a triple chocolate brownie at home. And they make my sundaes with chocolate chip ice cream, anyway. Perks of knowing the staff.” 

Clarke has always thought of Lexa as older and more mature than her, though she knows they are in the same grade. It’s the quiet stoicism, she guesses. But a bowl of ice cream transforms strong, silent Lexa into a little kid on Christmas. She digs in like she hasn’t eaten all day. 

“How do you eat like that and stay so thin?” Clarke asks. _No, not thin,_ she amends in her head. Honestly, Lexa is _ripped. It’s really a shame she keeps her body covered all the time…_ Clarke swallows a big spoonful of ice cream, willing the frozen dessert to cool her down. 

Lexa shrugs. “Good metabolism, I guess. My mom says it’s a teenage thing and I should take advantage of it while I can, but she’s kind of the same, so that’s probably bullshit.” 

“You’re lucky. I wish I had that. I don’t even eat dessert, usually, and I avoid junk food, but…” She gestures vaguely down at her torso. 

Lexa tilts her head slightly as her green eyes meet Clarke’s blue ones. “You know you’re gorgeous, right?” 

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Clarke doesn’t know why she has such a hard time believing this. She’s been called pretty, hot, cute, lovely, and beautiful, but ‘gorgeous’ is new. And usually they’re just words, like ‘nice’ or ‘good’, nondescript and generally applicable. But she can tell Lexa is earnestly trying to communicate something with the word. 

Lexa buries her spoon in her ice cream and pushes the bowl aside. “Clarke. Come on. It isn’t even a matter of opinion. Anyone with _eyes_ will tell you that.” 

Clarke squirms under Lexa’s intense stare. She laughs nervously. “Thanks?” It almost sounds like a question. This girl has her off her guard. 

Instead of responding, Lexa resumes shoveling sundae into her mouth. The remaining ice cream has mostly melted, and Lexa licks her spoon to catch a few falling droplets. Clarke’s eyes feel like they are going to bulge out of her head as she watches Lexa’s tongue wind around the spoon. She excuses herself to the bathroom. 

Clarke locks the bathroom door behind her and splashes some cold water on her face. She’d like to say that this arousal is a one-time thing, that it won’t happen again, but she knows it’s a lie. She’s been putting off talking with Lexa about their relationship, but she can’t keep spending time as friends with the brunette while these thoughts continue to plague her. But the other girl called her gorgeous, and it’s not like their kisses have been one-sided. For all Clarke knows, Lexa could feel exactly the same way. _Which is what?_ She supposes she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it. 

When Clarke returns to the table, Lexa is clutching her stomach and glaring at her mostly empty bowl. Clarke smirks at her. 

“Did the ice cream defeat you?” 

Lexa brandishes her spoon like a sword, waving it in front of her chest. “Never!” She looks up at Clarke, standing beside the table. “But if you wanted to assist me in my battle, I wouldn’t object.” 

Clarke smiles and slides in next to Lexa. She feels pretty full herself, but a few tiny bites of brownie are probably not going to kill her. And she’ll do some extra crunches tonight to compensate. Lexa wasn’t kidding; the sundae is amazing. Clarke can’t remember if she’s ever tasted something so wonderful. She can’t help but moan as she tastes the fudge. She scans Lexa’s face for a reaction, but the other girl seems neutral as ever, though her eyes may have darkened a little. 

When Sheryl sets the bill on the table, Clarke quickly snatches it up and tucks the $100 bill inside. Lexa opens her mouth to protest, but Clarke holds a finger to the brunette’s lips. 

“Nope. My treat. I asked you ou—invited you here, after all. And I want to spend as much of my father’s money as possible this weekend.” 

Lexa’s face reddens. Clarke wonders if it is because of her finger on the other girl’s lips, or the fact that Clarke almost slipped up and said she asked Lexa out, but it’s probably because of the money. In any case, Lexa lets Clarke pay, and they get back in Clarke’s car. 

“So, should I drop you at home?” 

“Actually, I don’t feel like going home right now.” 

“Okay...” Clarke wasn’t expecting that. It doesn’t sound like flirting. It sounds sad. “We can, uh, go to my house if you want. I do still have your bra. And my father isn’t home, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. Not that that matters!” Clarke curses herself internally. She really needs to chill out if she wants to keep Lexa around. 

Lexa surprisingly agrees, and the girls fall into silence as Clarke drives. Clarke puts the car’s top down and tries not to get distracted by Lexa’s hair flying everywhere. It is very nice hair, and Clarke pictures herself burying her face in it, inhaling the subtle fragrance, the scent of Lexa: fresh as morning dew and a little salty. Clarke isn’t used to thinking like this. It’s overwhelming. She’s starting to wonder if bringing the other girl home with her might not be such a good idea. It definitely doesn’t fall into the category of ‘backing off’. 

“So, am I allowed to ask what’s going on with your father?” 

That came out of nowhere. Or did it? Clarke has been mentioning him a lot, she guesses. She is about to tell Lexa no when she realizes she’s actually dying to get it off her chest. 

“He’s getting married. He cheated on my mom, she left him, and now he’s marrying the other woman. So clichéd, right? She’s even ten years younger than him, and his employee! Not to mention the fact that she’s _awful_.” Clarke huffs out an angry breath, but congratulates herself on getting all of that out without crying or screaming. 

“I’m sorry.” Lexa sounds neutral, but Clarke is learning that probably means she’s being sincere. 

“Thanks. The upside is that I have time to myself now. When I was growing up, everything was scheduled to the minute. I always had some lesson or activity, a productive use of my time. But now that my mom is in England and my dad is busy with Her, I get to go to parties and just be a kid, to do things like this.” 

“Your mom is in England?” 

“Yeah. She got offered a research fellowship in Cambridge, and after everything with my dad, I guess it seemed like a better offer. She says she’ll be back next year, but I’m not so sure. So, yeah. Princess Clarke’s life isn’t so perfect after all.” 

“I wasn’t going to say that.” 

“But you were thinking it.” Lexa stammers in protest, but Clarke cuts her off. “It’s okay. Even the other cheerleaders call me Princess. It’s not such a bad reputation to have.” 

“Better than Lesbo Freak,” Lexa mutters. The hurt in her voice surprises Clarke. 

“Not everybody thinks that, Lexa.” 

“Oh yeah? I have a lot of experience that says you’re wrong. What do you think your friends would say if they found out that you’re hanging out with me?” 

Clarke doesn’t have a response to that. The truth is, Clarke hasn’t talked to any of her friends about Lexa. She wants to get angry, to be offended that Lexa would say these things about her friends, but there’s probably a reason that Clarke hasn’t shared any of her recent confusion with the other cheerleaders. 

“Why are _you_ even hanging out with me, anyway?” 

This has gone downhill so fast. Clarke stops at a red light and turns her head to the girl beside her. “You really have to ask?” 

Lexa says nothing. 

“Wow. You really don’t trust me.” 

“I don’t really have a reason to trust you. We hardly know each other, Clarke.” 

Clarke feels tears building behind her eyes and a tightness in her throat. “Look, Lexa. I really like you, okay? I want to be around you. You’re sweet and funny and you listen to me. I meant what I said the other night; you’re special.” 

“I, uh…yeah. Cool.” 

Clarke tries not to be angry with Lexa, but she just spilled her guts and all she got in return was ‘yeah. Cool.’ They take the rest of the trip in silence. 

 

By the time they arrive at Clarke’s, the mood in the car has lightened considerably. Clarke would like to credit this to her superb taste in music, but she knows her subpar singing is what actually made Lexa relax her shoulders and start smiling. She was hoping for that effect, and she’s proud that it worked.

Clarke gives Lexa a quick tour of her house. When that’s done, she’s at a loss as to what to do. She doesn’t have friends over very often, and Lexa was right; they don’t really know each other. Lexa suggests watching a movie, and Clarke happily complies. 

Other than _Star Wars_ , the girls don’t have compatible taste in movies. It feels like Clarke suggests half of her DVD collection before they decide on _She’s the Man_ , which Lexa has somehow never seen. Lexa curls up at one end of the leather couch. Clarke sits in the middle, giving Lexa her space. Lexa gradually unfurls her legs and spreads out, socked feet brushing Clarke’s thighs. The blonde’s eyes keep flicking back to Lexa’s face, gauging her reactions—or lack thereof—to everything happening on screen. She’s stoic as ever, though Clarke catches a few smiles here and there--her full lips are even more unfairly attractive when turned up at the corners--and Lexa actually laughs at Channing Tatum hiding from a tarantula. 

When the movie is done, Clarke sees her chance. “So, I know I’ve said this before, but can we actually talk this time?” 

“What do you want to talk about?” 

Is Lexa joking? “Lexa. Come on. You know what.” Clarke takes a breath and forces the word out of her mouth: “Us.” 

“Us? Is there really an ‘us’?” 

“You don’t think so?” 

“Clarke--” 

“I thought--” 

“Clarke--!” 

“Did I--” 

Lexa lifts up her hand and covers Clarke’s mouth. “Okay, Clarke. You said you like that I listen to you. Please return the favor. I like you. I’m not going to lie about that, because I don’t think I could hide it if I tried. But I can’t keep doing this. The threesome with Bellamy, keeping secrets from your friends…it’s all too much. You’re confused, and that’s okay, but you need to figure this out on your own. I can’t help you. I’m not okay with being your experiment. I’ve been there before, and I can’t do it again. When you decide what you want, you’ve got my number. Until then, I need some space.” 

Clarke can feel tears rolling down her cheeks and onto Lexa’s hand. She wishes she could stop them, that she could exert some modicum of control over anything that’s happening, but she can’t. She’s taken things too far again, pushed the brunette to her breaking point, and now she’s left staring at the now familiar sight of Lexa’s elegant legs walking away.


	7. One Way or Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been halfway to forever. I had exams, and then winter break was not nearly as restful as it should have been. Also sorry that y'all waited so long and there's not even any Clexa in this chapter...This story will get back on track, I promise. Thanks for sticking with it!

_One way or another, I'm gonna find ya'/ I'm gonna get ya', get ya', get ya', get ya'/ One way or another, I'm gonna win ya'/ I'm gonna get ya', get ya', get ya', get ya' - Blondie_

 

When Clarke has finally pulled herself together, she retreats to her bed and does the only thing she can think of: she calls her mom. She has no concept of what time it is in England, but Abby picks up on the second ring.

“Clarke? Are you alright, baby? We aren’t scheduled to talk until tomorrow night.”

Clarke debates lying and saying she’s fine. She already feels calmer just from hearing her mom’s voice. Does she need to get into what’s bothering her?

“Actually, Mom, there’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s kind of a big deal.” Coming out to your mother over the phone is not ideal. “Can we FaceTime?”

Her mother agrees, and Clarke hangs up. She takes a few seconds to compose herself, checking the mirror at her vanity table next to the bed. She appears normal—or at least doesn’t look like she’s been crying as much as she has. Clarke hates crying in front of just about anyone, even her mom, but with Lexa it’s definitely worse. The brunette is so stoic that Clarke feels embarrassed about not being able to control her emotions. But hiding your feelings is a kind of lying, so at least she’s being honest with Lexa.

When she sees her mother’s face on the screen, Clarke misses her even more, but Abby’s warm brown eyes give Clarke the courage she needs.

“So, there’s this girl…”

Abby remains quiet, simply humming and nodding her head, while Clarke summarizes the events of the past few weeks in parent-friendly terms. Abby doesn’t need to know how much Clarke had to drink after the homecoming game, and Clarke isn’t sure what to tell her about what happened with Finn. As she talks more and more about Lexa, Clarke finds her smile outweighing her urge to cry.

“I can’t believe I haven’t heard about any of this until now, sweetheart. You know you can talk to me, right? Any time of the day or night. I know I’m far away, but I never meant you to feel like I abandoned you.”

“I’ve been so confused, Mom. I honestly didn’t know what to say.” They’ve spoken by phone at least twice a week since Abby left, but usually for only a few minutes at a time, enough to talk about how well her classes were going, the weather, and whatever silly drama occupied the other cheerleaders that week. She takes a deep breath, looking away from the camera. “I really like her, Mom.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, sweetie. I know other people might not agree, but this doesn’t change how I feel about you. I will always love you, Clarke, no matter what.”

Clarke finds herself crying again. “I wish I could hug you right now.”

Abby reaches out her arms. “Virtual hug?”

It’s not much, but it will have to do.

“What does your father think about this?”

“Um…”

“Honey?”

“He just—he’s been busy, you know…” Clarke trails off. _‘With his girlfriend,’_ she doesn’t add.

“Clarke. You have to tell him. He’s your father.”

“It’s not like I’m actively avoiding bringing it up! Honestly, Mom, we’ve hardly talked since the school year started.”

Abby sighs. “I suppose you have to do what you think is best. But don’t shut him out on my behalf, okay?” 

“Okay.”

They settle into comfortable silence, smiling at each other through their screens.

“So,” Abby sounds unsure of how to continue. “What are you going to do now?”

Do? Clarke didn’t expect the conversation to turn concrete so quickly. She fiddles with the fringe on her accent pillow. “I have no clue. That’s sort of why I called.”

“Am I the only person you’ve told, honey? Don’t you have anyone at school you can talk to about this?”

“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t really know how people feel about…”

Abby’s face hardens. “Your father and I agreed not to tell you this, but I was never wholly comfortable moving you to public school. I know it’s good for you to spend some time in a bigger social circle with activities like cheerleading, and I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished there in the past couple of years. But Stillwell was such a nurturing environment; this wouldn’t have been an issue. I can’t stand the thought of you stuck in a place where you don’t feel comfortable being yourself.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll work it out.”

“Well, at least promise to keep me in the loop from now on. Parenting a teenager is hard enough under the same roof, but it’s even harder from a different continent.” Clarke sees a flash of what might be guilt on Abby’s face. “I love you, Clarke. I’m still your mom. You’re still my baby.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Clarke ends the call, flops down on her bed and switches on her remote-controlled sound system. It’s a Garth Brooks kind of day. She contemplates calling some of her friends from her old school, but she doesn’t feel very close to them anymore. She hasn’t seen most of them since 8th grade graduation. But her mom is right; she has to talk to _someone_.

There is one person at school, other than Lexa, whom Clarke knows for sure is comfortable with gay people. Unfortunately, that person has every reason to hate her.

 

Clarke knows Raven has Chemistry right after she does. She has seen Raven entering the Chem lab between third and fourth periods. Raven always arrives early, like she can’t wait to mix mysterious substances together while listening to Mr. Kane tell terrible, outdated jokes. Which, based on Clarke’s limited knowledge of Raven, is actually probably true.

When the bell to end third period rings on Monday, Clarke purposefully draws out the process of packing up her things, waving her partner out the door and cleaning up their experiment one item at a time. Sure enough, she is the last student in the room. She waits behind the heavy, propped open wooden door, and when Raven appears in the doorway, Clarke jumps out and pulls her into the supply closet next door.

The cramped, dark space of the closet echoes with Raven’s threats. “What the fuck? I’ll fucking kill you! I swear I--” Clarke reaches toward the light switch and accidentally bumps Raven’s chair against a tower of cardboard boxes. Dozens of plastic micropipettes tumble onto the girls’ heads.

When the light flickers on, Raven sputters into silence, staring up at Clarke, who now knows for certain that Death has those same big, black, unblinking eyes. Raven’s gaze almost intimidates Clarke into giving up and letting the other girl go. Almost.

“Okay, blondie. Feel like telling me what the Hell is going on? I’m guessing you’re not here to rob me.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“We _are_ talking.”

“About Lexa.”

Raven chuckles softly. “You’re even crazier than I thought you were.”

“I don’t need you to like me. Just hear me out. Please.” She gives Raven an opportunity to decline. “I screwed up. I know I did. I’ve basically done nothing but screw up. But if I want to stop screwing up, and I think we all want that, then something needs to change. I need help. And, pathetic as this may seem, I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“If I’m hearing you right, you want me to help you get with Lexa. Back with Lexa. Whatever.”

“I mean, that’s the eventual goal…”

“Woah, woah, woah. You need to take more time to get your shit together, girl. Two days is not going to convince anyone that you’ve changed. I’m frankly still wondering why I’m talking to you and not punching your face in.”

“I know. I know I can’t just go up to her and say ‘everything’s magically great now! Let’s go be gay together!’ I just…this is all so new. Lexa is so much more confident and badass than I am. I’m not sure I could handle being an outcast. My friends are cheerleaders and football players.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “As an ‘outcast,’ I’ll tell you it’s not that bad.”

“From what Lexa told me, it seems like basically everyone hates her, though I can’t really figure out why they care so much.”

“You should ask her about Costia.”

“Okay…?”

“Trust me. It’s not my story to tell, and chances are she won’t want to talk about it, either, but you should at least give her the option to clue you in. Anyway, let’s backtrack. Do you want to be more than friends?”

“I want to make things better between us. If that means friends, acquaintances…I just need her not to hate me.”

Raven mumbles something that Clarke can’t understand. “She doesn’t hate you, Princess. She l—she doesn’t hate you. But point taken. That’s good. Now what is it that you think you need from me?”

“I’m not sure. You’re right; this is crazy. But I thought maybe if I talked to you and you told me it’s okay and Lexa’s okay and wanting her is okay, then I’d feel okay.”

“It’s okay, Clarke. Lexa’s okay. I know you think a lot of yourself,” Clarke tries not to roll her eyes. She fails. “But Lexa has a life outside of you, and she chose to give herself some space. Wanting her is definitely okay, as long as you respect her limits. As for everyone else, I can’t help you much with that. I’m not an expert on the populars. You’ll have to do your own recon there. But if you need someone to talk to, and that person has to be me, I guess that’s okay.”

“Thank you so much, Raven!” Clarke can’t help but wrap the other girl in a tight hug.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m awesome. I get it." Raven squirms out of Clarke's embrace. "I’m not doing this for you. I just want my friend to stop moping around.”

“I thought you said she was okay?” Clarke shouldn’t feel happy that Lexa is moping, but she does.

“I said ‘okay’, not Little Miss Sunshine. Now let me get to Chem, before I rethink my moratorium on violence.”

Clarke opens the closet door and Raven wheels herself out into the hall.

Raven looks over her shoulder at Clarke, who’s knelt on the floor to clean up the micropipettes. “For future reference, you should know that it’s really fucking rude to put me in a situation I can’t maneuver my chair out of.”

“Would you have listened to me otherwise?”

“Fair. But next time you kidnap me, at least take me out for pizza.”


	8. Wannabe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's really short and has no Clexa but after ClexaCon last weekend, I wanted to publish something, even though I'm super behind on school work. I swear we're getting back to the main plot soon. Bear with me, y'all.

_If you wanna be my lover/You gotta get with my friends/Make it last forever/Friendship never ends – The Spice Girls_

 

Clarke lets another week go by before she runs out of patience and decides to take Raven up on her suggestion.

“Don’t you have better things to do on a Friday night?”

Clarke shrugs. “Not really. Football season is over and basketball doesn’t start for another couple weeks, so I’ve got a break from cheerleading, and we don't have any big debate tournaments til January.” And the more she thinks about Lexa, the harder it is to be around her cheerleading friends, people she has known for over two years but doesn’t trust with something this important, this potentially disastrous.

“You’re paying?”

“Of course.”

“Deal. I get to pick the place, though.”

 

Raven’s chosen pizza parlor occupies part of a renovated warehouse in the old section of the city. After Mickey’s, Clarke tries not to judge restaurants based on their exteriors, so she refrains from comment. And this place just _screams_ Raven. Pinball machines, Pac-Man, and other vintage games line the back wall under a collection of neon signs in foreign languages.

The girls sit on stools at a shiny metal table with an iridescent pattern on the top. They surprisingly manage to draw out conversation on mutual friends, upcoming exams, and video games until their pizzas arrive: pepperoni and extra, extra cheese for Raven, veggie for Clarke. About halfway through the meal, though, the girls fall into silence and can’t pretend it’s solely the fault of the food.

When Clarke’s gaze begins to wander toward the window, Raven gets fed up. “Just ask me already, Blondie.”

Clarke throws Raven a look she hopes says ‘what? I wasn’t going to ask you anything.’ Raven arches her right eyebrow. Even with the two small silver rings (not at all Clarke’s style), it’s beautiful. What Clarke should be asking her is where she gets her eyebrows done. They can’t look that perfect naturally, right? It’s only a short mental jump from Raven’s face to the one that still occupies her every doodle.

“How is she?”

“She’s doing well. She was named captain of the track team. She’s staying after school every day to plan workouts with the coaches even though the other girls are off for two weeks. I’m sure she’ll be even busier when they start traveling for meets.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“And of course she’s stressing about college applications, though she shouldn’t be. She’s got scouts from UVA, Auburn and Duke already interested, not to mention the Texas schools, and the season hasn’t even started yet.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I don’t know. I figure if we’re going to be friends I should know something about your life. Like, I know you’re in the Robotics club with Monty, but that’s about it.”  
For once, the sarcasm melts off Raven’s face and she gives Clarke a genuine smile. “You know what, Princess? I’m starting to not regret agreeing to this madness.”

 

Clarke picks Raven up again the next week. And the next. Raven coaxes her into eating a giant chocolate cupcake at a new local bakery, and Clarke learns how not to get in Raven’s way as they walk and wheel side by side. It’s nice making a new friend, even if said friend insists on calling her Blondie or Princess instead of her real name.

They try not to talk about Lexa, but being around Raven, having this indirect connection, somehow helps. Or at least it stops Clarke from calling Lexa, texting her or any of the other stupid ideas she has when she’s home alone in the evenings, after cheer practice and before her dad gets in, if he does at all. Farrah hasn’t moved in with them, thank goodness, but her childless home is apparently much more enticing to Jake than spending time with his daughter.

Raven makes Clarke feel better, and Clarke returns the favor by giving Raven advice about boys, a subject about which Lexa is both uneducated and uninterested.

“So, you like boys and girls?”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess so. Gender isn’t that important to me. I find Shay Mitchell and Tyler Hoechlin equally attractive. But I’ve never really had feelings for anyone…” The ensuing awkward silence reminds both girls of the obvious conclusion to that statement: _‘anyone but Lexa.’_

“Wick is taking me to the movies tonight,” Raven offers.

Clarke takes the distraction and runs with it. “You should come to my house! I’ll help you get ready! I’ll do your makeup and everything,” she catches Raven’s quizzical expression, “not that you need my help. But it would be fun.”

“I’m in. But I swear, if I end up looking like one of your cheer Barbies...”

 

“Hey, Ray?” Clarke asks as she runs a brush through Raven’s dark, silky hair.

“Mm?” Raven meets Clarke’s eyes in the mirror over Clarke’s bathroom sink.

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately—”

“Princess, I sincerely hope you’re not about to come onto me. I know I look good, but I’ve got a date in forty minutes.”

“Okay, _so_ not where I was going with that. It’s just, we’ve been hanging out a fair bit, and you’re spending more time with Wick than you used to. Do you still see Lexa much?”

The girl in front of her deflates a little. “She’s really fallen down a hole with this captain thing. She takes it very seriously. A bit too much, if you ask me.”

“That’s kind of what I thought. How can I think about asking her out when she doesn’t even have time for her best friend?”

“You’re going to ask her out? I’m pretty sure you’re not there yet, Romeo.”

“Do you think she’d come to my birthday party? Probably not, right?”

“When’s your birthday?”

“…Wednesday…” Clarke realizes her mistake. She should have told Raven about this earlier. "The party's next Saturday, though."

“And were you planning on inviting _just_ Lexa?” Raven sticks her tongue out at Clarke.

“I guess you can come, too,” Clarke grins. “But maybe we could do something beforehand? The party will probably be crazy. I’m not even planning it. Maya and Zoe are taking care of everything, with some help from the basketball guys.”

“Not really our scene. I could totally own those guys at beer pong, though. It’s simple physics…”

“Sure, sure. Now come pick what lipstick you want.”


	9. From the Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I'm back! I've got mixed feelings about this story, but I'm trying to power through. As always, let me know what you think.

_And when worlds collide/ We’ll stand side by side/ Hope lies just beyond so take this breath of life/ And from the ashes we will rise - Riskee_

 

December brings persistent rain: sometimes depressing drips that seem to wash the color from the world, sometimes roiling thunderheads darkening the midday sky. Lexa hardly notices. She’s the captain now, and she has to set an example. They run in all weather, mascara smearing on the girls’ cheeks like war paint. Lexa likes the look of it, truthfully. It makes her feel fierce. 

Schoolwork is also bearing down on the junior class. The amount of homework feels unfair to Lexa. Don’t their teachers know that they’ve got six other classes and other things going on? It’s a lot of pressure all at once, and it’s hard for Lexa to focus on one thing at a time.

The first winter track meet is scheduled for the next week. The girls look good, and everyone’s working hard, but Lexa is still worried. She’s up before the sun every weekday morning for her paper route and still in the locker room when the gray sky darkens to evening. It’s surprisingly calming—or maybe she’s confusing calm with exhaustion.  
Lexa is packing her bag and bracing herself for another bike ride home in the rain when her phone rings. 

“Raven?”

“No, uh…hi, Lexa. It’s Kyle…Kyle Wick.”

“Oh! Hi, Wick.” She is curious about why Wick is using Raven’s phone, but in the case of Raven and Wick she figures she doesn’t want to know why her friend is unavailable. On the other hand, “is Raven okay?”

“So she’s not with you?”

“Um, no.” She hasn’t hung out with Raven in weeks, come to think of it. “Why?”

“Well, she left her phone at my house this afternoon, and her mom said she wasn’t home. Not to be paranoid, but where else would she be?”

“I’m sure there’s some kind of explanation. I think her oldest brother, Ari, is in town this weekend. Maybe she’s out for a drive in whatever crazy new car he’s created.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” He sighs happily. “Thanks, Lexa.”

“No problem. I’ll let you know when I hear from her, okay?”

“Cool. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

Well, that’s odd. She tries not to worry too much; Raven is definitely risk prone, but she isn’t stupid. She doesn’t break the law or anything. Usually…

She decides to bike home and not worry about it—not that she has much of a choice.

//

A hot shower and a cup of tea later, Lexa feels much better. When she opens the door, she expects to see her sister, who’s picking her up so she doesn’t have to bike and arrive drenched to their weekly dinner. But it’s not Anya.

“Raven! Hey!” She moves out of the doorway to allow her friend inside.

“Mom said you and Wick were looking for me. Thought I’d drop by here first, after she got done yelling at me for not taking my phone.”

“Didn’t Ari have his phone?”

“I, uh, I wasn’t with Ari. He’s in Dallas for another week.”

“So where _were_ you?” 

Raven’s eyes squeeze shut momentarily as she clasps her left hand around the top of her ponytail. “Don’t freak out.”

Lexa hasn’t flexed her sarcasm muscle in a while, and this seems the perfect opportunity. “That’s such a comforting start. Why would I _possibly_ freak out?” 

“I was with Clarke.”

 _Oh. That’s why._ Lexa expected a lot of possible responses from Raven, but that sure as Hell wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry. What?!”

“We’ve kinda been…hanging out.” 

Lexa’s body has gone numb. It’s a miracle that she’s still standing. “What do you mean, ‘hanging out?’”

“Oh! Oh my God, no! Ew! Not like that. I wouldn’t—I’m not—come on, Lexa. I’m your best friend. I’m dating Wick. Don’t you trust me?”

“Should I trust you? You’ve clearly been sneaking around with my…with Clarke!”

“To talk about her feelings for _you_ , dumb butt!”

That actually makes perfect sense, in the same twisted, upside-down way that life has been going lately. Lexa understands, but she isn’t about to tell Raven that. 

“So, about Clarke. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Lexa can’t even manage to dread Raven’s next words. She isn’t sure anything will surprise her at this point.

“Her birthday party is coming up. She invited me…and you, if you want to come.”

“When’s the party?”

“Um, tomorrow. Don’t kill me. You’re not the easiest person to talk to anymore, and I didn’t want to just throw this out in the middle of the hallway.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to that party.”

//

“Oh, you’re going to that party.”

“Anya! Whose side are you on here?”

“There _aren’t_ any sides here!” 

Lexa turns her pleading eyes on Nyko, who shrugs and pats her on the shoulder. “Sorry, kid. I don’t make the rules.” He lifts Teo out of his high chair and carries him off for a diaper change, leaving the sisters alone.

Lexa rounds on Anya again. “I mean, they’re not rules. I don’t _have_ to do what you say.”

“That’s true. I’m not your mom. I don’t get to make you do anything.” Anya sighs, settling on the loveseat and patting the space next to her. Lexa curls up with a pillow, not touching her sister. “But I am the big sister, which means I sometimes say things that are worth hearing.” Met with silence from the girl beside her, she continues. “Look, Lex. Accepting this invitation doesn’t mean you forgive her. It doesn’t mean you want things back like they were before. It just means you are willing to be the bigger person, to see if this second chance she wants, and Raven thinks she deserves, is something you want, too.” She opens her arms and leans toward Lexa, who frowns and stays put. Anya shakes her head and tries a new tactic. “And it’s a party. Raven will be there. Maybe you’ll even have some fun.”

“That’s not likely.”

“What, you become track captain and suddenly you’re not allowed to have fun anymore?” 

“It’s not that. It’s just, parties.”

“You said you’re going early. It’ll just be you, Raven, and Clarke.” Lexa flinches at the mention of Clarke’s name. “If you really don’t want to go because you don’t like parties or because you don’t like Clarke, that’s fine. But if you don’t want to go because you’re scared, Lex, you should at least admit that to yourself.” 

Lexa lets Anya hug her this time. 

//

Lexa and Raven get a ride to Clarke’s from Wick. The rain has abated for the moment, though the wind that’s replaced it makes Lexa miss the drizzle. They ring the bell and knock, but no one answers, so they let themselves in. Clarke runs down to greet them a second later. They hand her their gifts and follow Clarke to the basement. Raven’s mom made _dulce de leche_ cookies, too. 

“I was thinking we could get pizza and maybe watch a movie. Y’all don’t have to help me set up or anything.” She gestures to the folding tables and chairs against the wall. 

“Aren’t you going to open your presents?” Raven asks, biting into a cookie.

“You don’t have to do it now,” Lexa adds, perhaps a touch too quickly.

Raven picks up on her friend’s nervousness and distracts Clarke with her gift: a handmade disco ball that projects color-changing stars on the ceiling. “It was good practice for robotics. Rotational motion was one of our criteria for last fall’s competition.”

Clarke loves it, of course. It’s weird for Lexa to see Clarke hugging Raven so affectionately. How did she not notice them becoming so close? It seems like the two of them are more comfortable with each other than with Lexa—not that she blames them. She’s not an easy person to be close with. She’s spent almost every waking moment in the past month running, working, studying or helping Anya around the house. 

//

They get over their awkwardness by the time the pizza shows up. Clarke agrees not to open Lexa’s gift until later, and they settle on the couch and put on a movie.  
Lexa is startled by the echoing doorbell during the climactic scene of _A New Hope_. Clarke scrambles toward the stairs, but the door from the main level swings open before she reaches the bottom step. Lexa doesn’t know who is behind the door, but she can guarantee that they won’t be happy to see her. 

Maya Vie, arms full of paper streamers, stops in the doorway. “What are they doing here?” This could be worse, Lexa supposes. Maya is one of the nicer cheerleaders, if a bit sheltered and ignorant. She sounds more confused than anything else. 

But Maya isn’t alone. Ontari Quinn, their school’s requisite queen bitch, brushes past Maya and marches down the stairs. “What the Hell, Clarke? Since when are you friends with Lezzie Lexa?” 

“I…I…” Clarke stutters. 

Lexa practices her time-tested technique of closing her eyes and pretending she’s at home in bed. She should have known this was a bad idea, should have foreseen this. She and Clarke belong to different worlds: pushing them together is bound to cause an earthquake. 

Raven jumps in. “Don’t worry. We were just leaving.” She flashes her signature tough girl glare at each of the cheerleaders, Clarke included, and hoists herself into her chair, nodding for Lexa to follow. 

Lexa wants to say something, wants to beg Clarke to defend them, to come with them, but she can’t find the words, and Clarke needs to do what she wants, not what Lexa asks of her.

//

Raven and Lexa exit the basement through the back door into the garage, letting it slam behind them. No sense waiting for Wick outside, where they will inevitably become the targets of more of Clarke’s…friends. That’s what those girls are, after all. They have more of a claim to Clarke than she and Raven do. Lexa can’t believe how stupid she was to come here, to put herself out there again. She knew the deal, knew the other kids were coming and Clarke would prioritize them. She just hadn’t counted on it hurting this much.  
When the door opens behind them a few minutes later, Lexa jumps. 

Raven turns around first. “Clarke?”

It’s Raven who calls her name, but Clarke’s eyes focus only on Lexa. “I’m so sorry about them. God! I mean, I knew Ontari wasn’t a great person, but I can’t believe she said that to you, Lexa.”

Lexa grunts in response. She doesn’t think she can take many more apologies from Clarke. 

“I guess I don’t know her as well as I thought I did,” Clarke continues, taking a step towards Lexa. “I’ve got some thinking to do, some things to sort out. So, I sent them home.”

“You what?” Raven shouts. Lexa has trouble stringing words together in her mind, let alone forcing them through her lips. 

“I canceled the party. Sent out a message telling everyone I’m sick.”

Raven chuckled. “That must have made Ontari mad.”

“Oh, she was furious. But I think I’m angrier with her at the moment.”

Raven’s phone buzzes. “Wick is outside. So, I’m gonna…” She presses the control panel on the wall and the garage door slides open.

Lexa gets up to follow. 

“Stay?” Clarke asks.

Lexa looks to Raven, whose eyes betray a mischievous glint, like she knew this would happen all along. Wick’s car pulls into the driveway, and he hops out to help Raven into the passenger seat. 

Clarke steps forward again. “Lexa?” 

Lexa looks at her phone to avoid Clarke’s eyes and sees a text from Raven.

_Raven (5:13 PM): You okay to stay?_

Lexa waves at Raven and nods. Then she turns to Clarke. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was that? Maybe finally something a little less angsty for our girls :)
> 
> I would also love ideas about what Lexa's gift for Clarke should be.


	10. After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's finally find out what happened last year, shall we?

_And there will come a time, you'll see/ with no more tears. And love will not break your heart/ but dismiss your fears, get over your hill and see/ what you find there. – Mumford & Sons_

 

Lexa follows Clarke back into the basement. The Griffin mansion is oppressively silent, accentuating the awkwardness between the girls. 

“So…” Lexa starts. Clarke looks hopeful, but Lexa doesn’t have an end for that sentence.

Clarke gestures for her to sit down, but doesn’t join her on the couch. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks, indicating the mountain of soda cans on the floor by the stairs. Lexa isn’t thirsty, but she requests a root beer. If nothing else, it will occupy her nervous hands.

Clarke returns with the root beer and a plastic cup of water for herself. They sit on opposite ends of the couch, facing the darkened screen of the TV, glancing down at their hands, over to each other, and back again. 

It is Clarke’s turn to speak now. “How have you been?”

“Okay. Pretty good, I guess.” Lexa can’t believe she’s making small talk. With Clarke. She thinks back a couple of months to when talking with Clarke felt like the most natural thing in the world. She wishes they could have that back. But she knows why they can’t. “You haven’t told your friends about us.”

Clarke sighs. “I haven’t. I don’t know what to tell them.”

“And I guess we know how they’d react.”

“Not everyone is like Ontari, Lexa.”

Lexa scoffs. “Wanna bet? I know they’re your friends, Clarke, but I know a side of them that you don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

This conversation is veering into dangerous territory, but Lexa can’t stop herself. “You really don’t know, do you?” 

Clarke shakes her head. Lexa wonders how that’s even possible. What was Clarke _doing_ last year?

“I don’t, but after what happened today, I’m ready to listen.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to tell you.”

“Okay. That’s fair. You don’t have to. But Raven told me something. She said I should ask about Costia.”

“She did?”

“Well, more like I needed to ask you and not her.”

Thank goodness for that, at least. Lexa sighs. Okay. She can do this. No more secrets. 

“Costia was my first love. She was my first everything, really. We grew up together, us and Raven, but Costia and I had something that was just us, something no one else could touch. We did everything together: slept over at each other’s houses every weekend, talked on the phone before bed, consulted each other on every little decision, went to the beach with each other’s families. I guess I was always in love with her. We had our first kiss at 8 years old. We were a couple before we even really knew what that meant. We were just kids, so it was cute when we said “forever” and had a wedding in my backyard. It wasn’t threatening.

Middle school was tougher. Girls started ‘dating’ boys, doing the same things Costia and I did, but calling it something different. We were told that you couldn’t ‘like’ a girl the way you could ‘like’ a boy. So we learned to be a little quieter about it, learned when it is and is not okay to hold your friend’s hand in public, or hug or kiss her. But we were still us. 

High school forced us deeper into the closet. Relatives and friends wanted to know why two pretty girls like us had never had boyfriends. And we had offers; mostly, Costia had offers. But she always turned them down. I was enough for her, she said. 

Then, last year, I heard about National Coming Out Day. It was a risk, I knew, but I was getting tired of hiding the most important part of my life from everyone. Costia and I had been together for half our lives, and I was tired of that being invisible, tired of my love not counting for anything. And I thought I wouldn’t care if some people started to hate me, as long as I had Costia. 

When I told Costia my plan, she freaked out. It wasn’t my decision, she said. This affected her, too. She didn’t want to be out. She asked me what I would even come out as. I told her I was gay. It was the first time I’d said it out loud--we’d never talked about labels--but it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But when I said, ‘I’m gay,’ Costia screamed, ‘well, I’m not!’ and left my house. She broke up with me over text that night. She said she loved me, but that was just between us and it didn’t have anything to do with her sexuality overall. We still spent time together at school, but I could tell she was always itching to get away, like that one tiny word had completely reversed our entire relationship from love to hate.  
I thought that was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. I had Raven on my side, which was great, but my world was still missing its center and I physically ached for her. I cut a lot of school that fall, and did kind of a lot of drugs. Without Costia, I no longer wanted to come out. There was no joy in my gayness, only pain. I met some other girls who took my mind off of things for a while, but whenever any of them brought up commitment I ended things.

Then the actual worst thing happened. Costia moved to California in March. She didn’t even tell me she was going; I found out from Raven. And you probably know the rest. She outed me on social media and then peaced out to San Diego. And all of the things she said would happen, all the bullying and hate, came true. She knew how bad it would be, but she did it anyway and left me alone to drown. So now most people at school and most of their parents hate me. Ontari was one of the worst, though the real cherry on top was my mom.”

“I thought your mom was cool with you being gay?” Clarke asks nervously.

“She is. But do you know what’s the most embarrassing way to come out to your mother in high school? How about your principal calling you both into his office because of all the bullying you’re facing and leaning across his desk to ask, ‘Mrs. Kurjak, are you aware that your daughter is… _a lesbian_?’ And she didn’t know what it meant—English isn’t her first language—so he had to explain it to her! And I’m just sitting there like, ‘okay, please send me back to the insult-hurling teenage mob now because that would be _so_ much better than this.’” 

“Wow.” Clarke’s eyes brim with unshed tears. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you.” Lexa pauses and tries to calm her heartbeat. “I’ve never told that story before; everyone who cared about me lived through it.”  
“I can’t believe all of that happened to you. You’re so strong, Lexa.”

And maybe it’s a cliché, but Lexa feels better, lighter somehow, telling her story out loud for the first time. But she shouldn’t have to tell Clarke, should she? Lexa turns to Clarke. “You were at school with us that whole time.” She hopes it doesn’t come off as an accusation. 

“Last March, right?” Lexa nods. “That would have been around the time my mom left.” Oh. “I’ve never been that involved in school gossip, but I was even more stuck in my own head than usual last spring, focused on pretending I was okay. I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I would have--”

“You would have what, Clarke? Would you actually have done anything for the random outcast girl? Turned against your friends for a stranger?”

“I’ve always hated bullying, always stood up for people. Well, I thought I did.”

“I’m not mad about it, Clarke. It wasn’t your job to do anything.”

“Well, it is now.”

Lexa shook her head. “I don’t need you to protect me, Clarke. Not that I didn’t appreciate you telling off Ontari earlier. That was honestly cathartic and fun to watch. But I’m used to it. You’re the one who’s risking her reputation by being seen with me.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t care about that.”

“You think you don’t, but why didn’t you tell people about us back in October?”

Clarke’s eyes leave Lexa’s and she brings her hands to her forehead. “I know I’ve messed up, Lexa. I’ve done basically nothing but mess up since we started hanging out. But I want to change that. I’m trying.”

“I know.” 

“And I…I care about you more than I care about homophobic assholes and their mindless followers. Even if they are my friends. We’ve got exams next week, then winter break. Let me think about it, and I’ll figure something out before school starts again.”

Lexa knows she shouldn’t trust Clarke. In her experience, people don’t change, at least not for the better. But she so, so wants to. “Just keep me in the loop. Please. I don’t want to get caught up in some crazy scheme and end up the center of attention again.”

Clarke’s smile is so wide Lexa feels she could get lost in it. “Of course.” Suddenly, she leans forward and wraps Lexa in her arms. And Lexa fully relaxes for the first time that day, maybe for the first time in a long, long time.


End file.
